In Another's Eyes
by Kitsune Heart
Summary: Four terrifying words: "You are the father." When the last person in the LEP that ANYONE thought would ever hear those words finds himself having to face up to a new responsibility...will he rise to it or fall? And what must he lose to get what he wants?
1. For You to Notice

**Chapter 1: For You to Notice**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Artemis Fowl, and I really hope Eoin Colfer never reads this, because he would be PISSED at me.**

**A note on chapter titles: All chapter titles are songs or line from songs, and the songs make up the soundtrack to this fic. It's sort of a thing I wanted to do with a fanfic for a long time. I suppose you could imagine the chapters along with the lyrics, but you wont actually _find_ any of the lyrics in the story itself here (except for one chapter WAY long away, and the songfic version will only be posted on Artemis Fowl Fangathering, to comply with this site's regulations).A short bit of lyrics _is_ given at the end of each chapter, for a teaser.**

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**Song: "For You to Notice" by Dashboard Confessionals**

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**Chapter 1: For You to Notice**

**Week 1**

Nothing.

**Week 2**

Nothing.

**Week 3**

Well, at least there's something fun going on...

**Week 4**

Uh...oh...

**Week 5, Part 1**

Just another day at the LEP. Life in Haven could be called "varied," but it could also be called "monotonous." Run around for a few millennia and even the most abnormal start to a day could be repeated hundreds of times, making it seem rather _passee_.

But Corporal Grub Kelp rather liked _passee_, and he certainly did not like abnormal. Abnormal put him in front of massive Eurasian bodyguards with nothing but a little gun to protect himself. Sure, that gun could burn a rhino to a crisp on the right setting, but you had to _shoot_ the rhino before it got to you.

So Grub enjoyed his normal life and he enjoyed his desk job. Perhaps not the best paying position in the LEP (that had to go to his older brother, Commander Trouble Kelp), but enough to get by. Besides, there were certain perks to his office. Established territory, recognition (even if it was negative), privacy...yes. Office work was good.

So, one day shortly after the Haven tourist season had petered out, Grub Kelp arrived at the front steps of Police Plaza exactly five minutes before his shift began, humming to himself and surveying the comings and goings of the officers. The first members of the graveyard shift were already on their way out (Grub frowned at this, but said nothing, as their early departure no longer impacted his own work) and their replacements were staggering in.

Loitering near the front doors was Lieutenant Lili Frond, flirting rather noncommittally with the visiting Chix Verbil, all while glancing around for her easy exit: her boss, Holly Short. The youngest Frond had joined Major Short in recent years, acting as the secretary to the Commander's new second-in-command. This meant waiting to ambush the hard-to-find Recon officer, who seemed to spend as much time out of Police Plaza as in it. An odd achievement for a position that should have resulted in 95% paperwork and 5% coffee breaks.

Lili responded to a comment from her green-tinged flirting partner with a soft laugh and a flip of the hair. Grub couldn't help but be captured by the flash of her blond locks in the bright lights of the front doors. She was certainly the most desirable female in the LEP, regardless of what species you pursued. Rich, famous, drop-dead-gorgeous. And, like almost every other woman in the LEP, completely oblivious to Grub's presence. He sighed sadly.

She looked down the marble staircase, eyes momentarily alighting on Grub, causing him to miss a step and drop his data tablet. He cursed, praying that nothing had been jostled too badly. Once he had confirmed that his prize was in full working order, he remained crouched and looked up to Lili, giving her a shy grin, tucking a bit of his loose hair (Mommy had been _insisting_ he get it cut, but he'd evaded shears so far) behind his ears.

But her attention was already far past him, if it had ever actually fallen on the tangerine-haired corporal. She smiled widely, not even bothering to say goodbye to Chix as she trotted down the staircase, her own tablet held firmly to her chest. "Holly!" She cried, waving, both enthused to see her boss and thoroughly annoyed with her very existence outside of the office. Given the choice, Lili would have probably handcuffed Holly to the desk so she could keep track of the woman. "I really need to give the Atlantean ambassador your answer _today_. Will you be going to the Koboi hearings or no?"

Passing by Grub's right side, Holly Short ascended the stairs to meet her secretary. She looked at the tablet presented to her and frowned. "Is this really necessary? It's Koboi. We shouldn't even be _having_ this conversation, just yet. Doesn't she have a few good _centuries_ before her first hearing?"

Lili flipped her hair over her shoulders, but it immediately fell back onto the tablet when she nodded. "Technically, yes, but this isn't about parole. It's the hearing for her smuggling charges."

Holly rolled her eyes at this. "Smuggling. Lili, can you tell me how long she is sentenced for?"

Lili responded with no hesitation. "Five thousand years. Three thousand with good behavior."

"And how old is she?"

"Two hundred."

"And _how_ long do pixies live?"

"At the outside, eighteen hundred years."

"Then bug me if she is about to get out alive, will you?" Holly seemed about to say more, but she stopped, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She recovered quickly, shaking her head to get back in order.

Lili, however, was all too attuned to her charge, if a little short on tact. She tilted her head a bit, studying the smaller elf. "You look _horrible_."

"Thanks," Holly muttered, continuing her ascent to work. "It's great to know I fall afoul of your expectations."

Lili trilled, following Holly up the stairs, flipping through the many discussion points on her data tablet as she filled the woman's schedule with the new information. "Holly, I _always _expect you to fail in that respect."

Grub, who had watched this short interchange from his crouched position on the stairs, finally stood, but he didn't make it very far, as his ears soon picked up a distant and exciting sound.

From the street came an engine's roar, followed by an alarming shriek. Grub turned to see a blue and silver magna-bike running free. It came down one of the streets perpendicular to Police Plaza, brakes squealing as it drifted around the corner. With a new squeal, this one of protesting wheels, the bike took hold again and shot the last few dozen meters to a set of reserved parking spaces in the very middle of the foot of the stairs. There didn't even seem to be a second's slow-down. One second the bike was moving at ludicrous speeds, and the next it was parked perfectly and purring like a very satisfied kitten.

LEPTraffic officers eyed the driver, but quickly looked away. Rookies could deal with that one. Trying to ticket her was something of a rite of passage for the stupider cadets.

Engine turned off almost reluctantly and kickstand put in place, the rider swung her leg off the cycle, taking a moment to lean against the bulky side and straighten her black riding pleathers. Matte black. She liked that color.

Careful of any snags, she leaned her head down and slid off her helmet. Long silver hair cascaded out. For a moment, it distracted everyone outside Police Plaza with its shine. Not so much the silver of age (six hundred wasn't all _that_ old, especially for an elf), but more in the sense of the metal.

Wing Commander Vinyáya flipped back her head, long, straight tresses arcing in the air and settling without a single tangle onto her back. Still, she ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it up to get rid of the last moisture from that morning's shower. She looked up the stairs and beamed.

Grub once again felt his heart seize. His knees felt weak.

"Major Short, Lieutenant Frond!" Vinyáya called, trotting up the stairs and past Grub to meet the other two main women in the LEP. "I presume you finally have that little Atlantean trip worked out. Not going?"

Holly shook her head, then winced. "Oh...uh...yes, Wing Commander. I thought I had better things to do with my time."

"Which is exactly right," Vinyáya said, stepping to the other side of Holly, though she addressed Lili. Holly was a responsible officer and never backed down on her commitments, but it was always best to work through her handler. "I need to speak with you about that goblin girl we picked up last year. Scree. Some B'wa Kell members were talking about her up at Howler's Peak. She might be a bit more important to us than a simple foster case. I've heard the word 'captain' and 'Scree' said together too many times for it to be a slip of the tongue."

Lili looked intrigued, writing down a few notes, but Holly couldn't be bothered, it seemed. She was holding her stomach and shaking her head, swallowing often. "I...okay. Scree. Got it. We'll see what goblin family took her in."

"Excellent. Oh, and speaking of better things to do with your time..." The silver-haired elf looked over her shoulder, gaze darting up and down Grub's body. "Are you going to stand out here gawking at the girls, or are you going to go in and push some more _papers_ around tonight, Corporal?" She added a sneer to the word "papers," and it was obvious that, even if she hadn't been several steps up on Grub, she would still be looking down on him.

Grub gave a little start. He hadn't realized that he was staring. He tried to fight down a blush and failed. Seeking to preserve a little of his dwindling pride, Grub looked steadfastly at the ground and ran up the last of the stairs, slipping past the three high-ranking women and into Police Plaza.

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Grub wasn't exactly a bad officer. As it happened, he was considered one of the force's greatest assets in one aspect of the job: desk work. Following his brother's unexpected promotion to commander, he had enjoyed a little extra attention from some of the lower-ranked officers looking to get a few perks through a connection to the head of Recon and Retrieval. However, this attention soon petered off when they realized that Grub wasn't so willing to pass on their good wishes and requests to his older brother. So, here he was, still corporal, still mostly ignored, and years past his last field work, stuck in an office.

All things considered, he was quite pleased with things the way they were. Let his brother run into battles and get his face smashed in by raging demons. Trouble was there for the action. Grub was there for the paycheck. Not that he disliked his job. He was right where he wanted to be, supporting the LEP his father had so loved, all without actually fighting.

Grub entered his private office (a small affair, but its windows had long ago been boarded over, giving him a lovely bit of privacy most officers lacked) and sank into his chair, taking a moment to just lean back and enjoy his office. Then, with a few quick clicks, his data tablet synched up to the LEP wireless systems and began loading his workload for the day. He spent the first fifteen minutes weeding through it and returning a few stacks of paperwork to the more negligent officers. He spent a considerable amount of time trying to decide if he should make the Operations Booth sweat a bit before processing their latest stack, then grimaced and put it at the top of his to-do list. It was best not to antagonize Fowl. He had a wicked sense of humor and plenty of ammo on Grub.

Thus, Grub Kelp began his work day by once again wishing great destruction down on the head of Artemis Fowl and his inability to knock.

Grub Kelp was a precise person, and exactly two hours into his shift he rose from paperwork and grabbed a thermos from under his desk, ready for his coffee break. It was in the break room that he received his second irritant of the day.

He glared down at the coffee pot, then at the fairies that stood about the room. "Who," he snarled, "was the last person to get a cup?" Grub tended more towards high-pitched whines and mumbles, but coffee was one thing his coworkers knew better than to mess with. Not so much because of Grub's posturing, but because Trouble was known to stick derelict fairies on chute-watch for a month whenever he received the megabyte's worth of formal complaints from his little brother.

Across the room, the male of the pair leaning his back on the counter and the female sitting behind him, legs to either side of her partner's waist, Artemis Fowl and Holly Short looked at their cups in great concern, obviously trying to remember if this latest travesty was their fault. Their expressions soon cleared, however, and they switched attention to Lili Frond, who responded by pulling a tea bag out of her cup. Attention again transferred, this time to Ash Vein, who muttered "Decaf, doctor's orders," and trailed off into a series of curses upon the physician's entire bloodline.

Out of the corner of Grub's eyes, he caught a green flutter. Turning, he glared at the ever-mooching Chix Verbil, who was hovering a few inches off the ground and trying to hide an oversized coffee cup behind his back.

Target thus identified, the attack on this derelict sprite was about to begin when the corporal heard a disgusted sigh from back in the direction of the other fairies.

"Drop it, Grub. I'll make a new pot." Holly pushed Artemis away, sliding off the counter. However, her good intentions were cut short when her feet touched ground. With a low moan, Holly swayed on her feet, a hand flying to her brow. "In a...in a minute." She leaned back against the counter, soon after supported by the concerned fairy Fowl.

"Holly, what is..." Artemis paused, reaching up to place a hand on Holly's forehead. "You're hot."

She grinned at him, ready to make a joke, but it soon slipped away as she groaned again. "I've not been feeling so well," she admitted, placing a hand on her stomach. "A bit sick, actually."

"Sick," Artemis murmured, frowning. "I thought fairies didn't _get_ sick. Symptoms?"

"Oh, we get sick." Holly assured him, though perhaps "assured" is not the best word. "Especially when we're low on magic. I should have let the medics heal me after that last mission..." Artemis grew a bit more concerned at her words, but the woman's swaying seemed to have abated. Still, Artemis did not let her go, prompting her on the symptoms. "Er...dizzy, tired, achy...ugh, nauseous. Definitely nauseous."

Artemis put a finger under Holly's eye, pulling down a bit to get a better look, making sure her vision was clear. "Huh. If I didn't know better, I'd say you had the flu." He frowned at this, obviously trying to remember something. Something very troubling.

Holly leaned back, freeing her eye and rubbing at it. "I'm fine. I'll see a doctor after my shift." She stood straight and began to cross towards the coffee pot.

Fowl turned a fiery glare on the young corporal.

Grub sighed, holding out a hand to stop her. He was not going to let Fowl build up a vendetta over some coffee. Besides, it would be nice to stick Chix back up in the chutes for a while. He'd been sitting pretty up in E1 for too long. Grumbling a bit and slamming the supplies around, Grub refilled the pot and pressed "On." Despite many previous admonitions that a watched pot does not boil (or brew), Grub crossed his arms and stared at the coffee, urging it to go faster. This fiasco was _not_ coming out of his break time, that was for sure.

He was just pouring his first cup when two highly unrelated things happened, though these highly unrelated thing were about to form a very painful connection.

Firstly, there came a light tapping from the hall seconds before Wing Commander Vinyáya appeared in the doorway. She took one step inside and froze, torso angling back as if avoiding an attack. She covered her nose and glared around the room. "All right," she hissed, voice dulled by the pressure on her nostrils, "who let Mulch in, this time? Didn't you all get the memo about him not being allowed into the Plaza?"

At the same moment that Vinyáya arrived, Major Short again slid off her place on the counter, a hand flying to cover her mouth and another clutching her stomach. She looked about the room in a panic, then at the Wing Commander in the door. Her eyebrows lowered in sudden determination and Holly charged.

Vinyáya realized what her subordinate intended a moment too late. Holly elbowed the older elf to one side and dashed out of the room, making her way quite swiftly down the hall. Artemis followed her, only just in time to see his lover crash through one of the bathroom doors. Soon after, everyone in the break room heard wet splashes and further groans as Holly dedicated the contents of her stomach to the great porcelain god.

There was more groaning from Vinyáya, who was rubbing her chest and glaring at Fowl, as if he had been the one to elbow her aside. "Explanations, Fowl. Now." She winced, holding her chest even tighter, actually whimpering.

Artemis looked to Vinyáya, eyes wide in an appeal, then back towards the women's bathroom and the forbidden territory therein. "Holly said she didn't feel well, and she's running a temperature. Could you...?" He waved at the door, then coughed. Holly may have been the only person inside the facilities, but there was a sort of psychological forcefield keeping him from entering a woman's restroom.

Rolling her eyes at the young elf, Vinyáya stopped rubbing her chest. For a moment, it seemed she was about to refuse and enter the break room. Then her nose again wrinkled at the smell and she stepped back. "Very well, Fowl." With a shake of the head and a small sneeze to dislodge whatever scent was bothering her, the silver-haired elf entered the restroom.

Moments later, her booming Commander's voice filled the halls. "FOWL! Get your car, _NOW!_" Seconds later, Vinyáya was barreling out of the bathroom, Holly limp in her arms.

Artemis was frozen for a moment, then he burst into action, disappearing down the corridors towards the Ops Booth. Vinyáya took a more direct route to the exit, trusting the former human to reach her on the front steps soon.

There was a stunned silence as everyone in the room tried to figure out what had happened.

Lili was the first one to understand, though her reaction was perhaps not the type one would typically expect. With a screech, she took to her feet. "Her five o'clock with Cahartez!" Then she was gone, leaving Chix and Grub to stare at each other for a bit before the sprite shrugged, took the last bagel, and left the room.

Grub stood there for some time, a bit flabbergasted by the events. Fairies did get sick on very special occasions (mostly dealing with a lack of magic, as Holly had said), but throwing up was a rare reaction, and passing out was almost unheard of, except for the most dire of diseases. After taking a few seconds to look around for any approaching break room visitors, Grub took an entire box of alcohol wipes from the supply counter, tucking it under his arm and taking his full thermos of spicy coffee back to his office. If _Holly_, the master of healing, was getting sick, he was not going to let any germs _near_ him.

The incident soon passed from Grub's mind. During his next break, this time for lunch, the corporal sat on the fronts steps of Police Plaza, head bobbing along to the sound of his latest album, which blared through his earbud headphones. He almost missed Vinyáya slipping back into the building. She noticed him, however, and gave a little start when his eyes fell on her. She clutched her work jacket tighter to her chest before going inside.

Grub paused mid-chew to consider this, one ear twitching. Then he shrugged it off and continued eating, putting it down as just another instance of the women of Police Plaza acting insane for the day. They were often wont to do so. Soon after, he dusted the crumbs off his slacks and went back in to finish his shift.

This time, Grub did not have the opportunity to get back into his flow. Just as he had finished removing yet another few hundred pages of paperwork sent to him by shirking workers, there came a soft knock. Grub frowned and was about to say he was busy when the knocker opened the door of their own accord and slipped inside.

Grub felt his chest tighten at the sight of Wing Commander Vinyáya, who was looking through the diminishing crack in the door to see if anyone had noticed her entrance.

"Er...uh...Wing Commander?" He said, actually somewhat pleased at his eloquence. Usually all he could get out when she entered his office was a little squeak and a few nods.

The elder elf turned to him and began to massage her temples with the middle finger and thumb of one hand. The other was clutching tightly at something rather small, squeezing every so often, as if she wanted to crush the object.

"Are you..." _Here to see me?_ Grub's mind rushed forward, though luckily the thoughts were a bit too fast for his lips to keep up. Of course she wasn't here to see him. Now was not the most 'convenient' time of the month for her, to put it delicately. He tried again. "Are you going to...tell me what is wrong with Major Short?" That seemed intelligent enough. He congratulated himself on this miracle of coherent conversation.

Vinyáya shook her head, but she seemed to be addressing his assumption of subject, still taking the time to answer his question. "She was a bit low on magic and seems to have picked up a bug. Nothing a quick jolt from a doctor wont fix, and she can top up on magic tomorrow night." The commander crossed the room, movement lacking all of the customary sway that always focused attention on her tight legs and hips whenever she was in this room. She was walking like someone without a ride home from a marathon.

"That's not why I'm here." She leaned over the desk, using the hand that had recently been comforting her poor head to support her weight. Her other hand, still clenched tight around its contents and now shaking slightly, moved across the desk until it rested perfectly between the elves. With a deep breath that snagged and juddered, she opened her hand and lay the object out on the desk. "What," she whispered, tone sharp and tense, "do you have to say about _that_?"

It didn't take Grub long to realize what it was. There is perhaps some cosmic rule that such an object should be identical across all civilizations, even if they are thousands of years apart, developmentally. It looked like a small, flat, white plastic pen. One end had a few small ridges for a grip, while the other end was (mercifully for Grub's sense of hygiene) covered in a purple cap. In the very middle, looking cheerily up at Grub Kelp, was a window displaying a blue plus sign.

Grub looked at it for about a minute. Then he looked at Vinyáya, trying to determine if she was screwing with him. Then he looked back down at the object between them. Then he looked at Vinyáya's stomach. He could feel her ire rising at this slow switch of focus and knew that something had to be said. Something suave. Something intelligent. Something reassuring.

Grub shot his fists in the air. "I finally did something before my brother!"

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**Preview: "All those years,/ one day changes everything, and/ gone and your life and the passion fades away./ Saving for something/ that you'll never see in your days,/ shutting out everything that you need./ Looking through distorted eyes, beautiful disaster./ Adding up a million lies./ So much for 'ever after'."**

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**A note to new readers: I'm trying to break 1,000 reviews, and that means just a few of you going through here and reviewing every chapter will meet that goal. But why should you care? Smut, sirs and ladies. Smut. If I break 1,000 reviews, I will post three smut stories, featuring a variety of characters. More info on who can be found at the end of chapter 53, but going there would be spoiler-ific. So...so to! Review! For the good of all! Make your fellow man happy in PANTS!  
**


	2. Beautiful Disaster

**Song: "What Have We Become" by Daughtry**

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**Chapter 2: Beautiful Disaster  
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**Week 5, Part 2**

Vinyáya was morally opposed to murder, but she suddenly found that she could make an exception.

"That is what you have to say?" she said, voice low and icy. "You're proud because you did..._this_ before Trouble?"

Grub suddenly realized what he had said and lowered his head slightly, looking up at Vinyáya like a wolf cub appealing to its alpha. "I mean...yes?"

Vinyáya stared at him. She really didn't know how to respond to that. At least he was being honest. Still, it was about time she slammed the real meaning of this situation home. "Corporal. I'm _pregnant_."

Grub poked at the test with his stylus. "I assumed that's why there is a plus sign."

"...you are the father."

Again, Grub was nonplussed. More poking, trying to distance the test from himself. "Well...you wouldn't be in here if I wasn't, would you?"

Vinyáya reeled back. He was taking this _far_ too well. She was pregnant. Grub Kelp had managed, against all odds and the inclinations of the universe, to _breed_. "Aren't you going to freak out at some point?"

Grub looked down at the pregnancy test. "Eventually. And I'd appreciate it if you'd take that away. I'm not sure I've got enough sanitary wipes to handle something that gets peed on."

"..." The silence itself seemed to be a pronounced word in some foreign language, the sound translating roughly to "Are you kidding me?" After a little time trying to figure out the best way to respond, Vinyáya settled on the obvious tactic: violence. She snatched up the test and threw it at Grub's head. "D'ARVIT, _I'M PREGNANT_, YOU IDIOT!"

Grub ducked, then yelped as the stick still managed to graze his hair. He felt a crawling sensation start at the base of his spine, moving swiftly up until it began to itch at his poor, defiled scalp. He began to rummage under his desk, taking out some of the alcohol wipes and cleaning his dirtied locks. "I _get_ that, Wing Commander. I don't see that there's anything we can do to fix that, now, so..." He halted his scrubbing and took away his hands. There seemed to be some foaming agent in the wipes, as there were very tiny bubbles in his hair, turning the locks a slightly brighter shade of orange. "I mean..._do_ you want to..._do _something about it?" He swallowed, eyes darting down to the elder elf's stomach, then back up to her face.

Vinyáya couldn't help but think he was trying to remain neutral in this particular question, but there was no masking the pleading in his eyes. At this, a little of her anger abated and she was back to her normal calm and cool self. "I..." She also looked at her stomach, though with a significant amount of resentment that Grub completely lacked whenever he glanced in that direction. "No," she finally said, shaking her head. More modern fairies like Frond and Short may have had fewer reservations, but Vinyáya was an older breed of elf. Let the kiddies do as they pleased, but she couldn't bring herself to end any life, especially one so defenseless.

Grub seemed to relax immediately, again scrubbing at his hair. The alcohol in the wipes had mostly dissipated while he was waiting, so now he merely used them to take off the suds, leaving his normally loose hair sticking up in large spikes. "Well, in that case, what do you want me to do?"

This was perhaps the weirdest moment in Vinyáya's life, and she had spent the last 500 years heading Section 8. Weird was sort of in her job description. Except for a little hygiene freak-out, he was acting like they were merely discussing a trade of shifts at work. So she just said the first thing that came to mind. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

Seeming genuinely confused about what he was trying to say, Grub tapped his fingers on his tablet. "Well...I'm supposed to help, right?"

Vinyáya took a step back, keeping one foot forward so her body was at an angle, presenting the smallest target possible. "You..._NO!_" She shook her head, long silver hair flying about.

Grub frowned down at his tablet, finally putting it aside and giving the woman his full attention. "Why did you come in here, then?"

Now that _was_ a good question. Vinyáya frowned, taking a few more steps back. "I...I thought you should know. You would have noticed, eventually."

"Thank you for your faith in me. I imagine a big, pregnant belly _would_ have tipped me off." He sighed and stood, walking around his desk so he could stand before Vinyáya, who managed to keep herself from backing off any further. He didn't get too close, but still closer than she would have liked. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Wing Commander. As little as you want my help, that is _my_ child. What do you want me to do?"

Vinyáya considered this, then shook her head. "Corporal, I _know_ what your paycheck looks like. You can't do anything for me that I can't do myself."

"I didn't mean _money_." Grub looked a bit downcast after he said this. "I'll work on that, though. What else?"

Vinyáya examined Grub and tried to think of something suitably cutting to say, but nothing came to mind. Grub had not been the best field officer during his time helping his brother with Retrieval, though he was prone to bragging about his few encounters in battle ("few" being the Butler showdown). Now, with a life behind the desk, he was also almost morally opposed to volunteering for something he really had no interest in. If he was offering now_...  
_

"I...fine. Whatever. Though I doubt I'll think of anything." She sighed, burying her face in a hand and shaking her head at the acquiescence. "I suppose it's the least you could do after fucking everything up."

Grub blinked, then tilted his head to the side. When he spoke again, it was with his customary tone. The one that protested being blamed for anything, even if it technically _was_ his fault. "'Fucking everything up?' Wing Commander, just because the birth control didn't work doesn't make this _all_ my fault."

Vinyáya could feel the heat rising along the back of her neck, but the blush that came forward was not from the embarrassment of _how_ she had got into this position (or any of the other several dozen position that could be accomplished with a desk and swivel chair) in a physical sense, but more a blush of shame as to how she came to be there in a biological sense. She swallowed, still looking steadfastly into her hand. "I guess."

It didn't take any particular skill to catch the slight strain in Vinyáya's voice. Grub leaned forward, which caused Vinyáya to let go of her face and lean back. He studied her expression, then his jaw dropped open a bit. His eyes widened in shock at the revelation that came to him. "You...you aren't _on_ anything, are you?" He looked outraged.

"Yes, I am!" Vinyáya snapped, poking him in the forehead to push the male back.

"Oh, no," Grub shook his head, "there is _no way_ we are _that_ unlucky. What did you _do?_"

"Look, I was on a mission with Short a few weeks ago, if you recall. I didn't exactly have room in my field pack for personal items. I was a few days late, that's all!" Vinyáya protested, now adding a shove at the male elf's chest so he was forced to back away several steps. "It's not like you've never been late!"

"I _haven't_." Grub snapped, leaning against his desk and propping himself up with one hand, the other now running through his hair in a distracted fashion, grabbing at it so tightly that the woman was surprised he wasn't wincing. "Every new moon at midnight, just like the doctor told me. Couldn't you have waited until it was safe?"

She snorted. "I didn't see you pushing me away."

"I didn't know!" Grub held his hand out to Vinyáya, not sure what the futile gesture was intended to accomplish. "Gods, Vinyáya, as many 'missions' as you seem to go on? It was only a matter of time before you got knocked up!" Then he seemed to freeze, realizing what he said. The term had not been the most delicate. There would be pain, soon. He sensed it.

Instead of returning to a rage (she left such outbursts to the impulsive Major Short), Vinyáya turned icy. "A matter of time, huh?" She turned and walked to the door, grasping the handle hard, wishing she could squeeze the metal tight enough to leave an imprint. "Well, no need to worry about the statistics, now. It's too late_._"

She opened the door, but paused, glaring over her shoulder at him. "Oh. And you will address me as '_Wing Commander_,' Corporal. As I have told you_ many _times." That said, she slipped out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

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******Preview: "**I've found a reason to show/ a side of me you didn't know./ A reason for all that I do,/ and the reason is..."


	3. I Need You To Hear

**Song: "The Reason" by Hoobastank**

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**Chapter 3: I Need You To Hear  
**

**Week 5, Part 3**

Originally, Grub Kelp had been elated about his brother's promotion to Commander of LEPRecon and LEPRetrieval. Everyone in Police Plaza had commented about the little brother getting a bevy of perks, including the best field assignments. Of course, the field assignment thing had proved a bit poorly-aimed, as all Grub had wanted to do in the days after Ark Sool resigned was enjoy a string of shifts behind a desk, working on the Hybras mission from a safe distance. Commander Kelp had been more than willing to let Grub do so, as most of the other officers were buckling under the strain of setting up the demon evacuation.

However, things did not proceed as planned after Hybras returned. Except for getting a full-time desk job after the reinstated Holly Short had tormented him for months, followed by his own small office after the cubicle pranks became too much, Grub Kelp enjoyed no perks for being associated with his elder brother. In fact, he wasn't even sure if the office advancements were a result of their association or the fact that Trouble Kelp did not have the same short fuse and exploding responses at Julius Root had, making it easier for Grub complain, rather than simply bearing up under any downsides to the job in order to avoid a 100-decibel lecture. Grub Kelp rarely saw his brother at Police Plaza, and he even more rarely saw the Commander in his office.

Today, however, was different. Grub needed to talk.

When he approached the pink-haired pixie receptionist, Grub tried to stand as tall as possible, which did at least get her attention. Grub may not have been in any way strong, but at least he had some height. This made him more gangly than anything, but it was worth the attention. "I need to speak with Commander Kelp. Immediately." He tried to boom this out, but his height did not correspond to a deep voice, making this effort ludicrous.

Luckily, the pixie did not laugh, merely looking up at the tall elf and squinting behind her horn-rimmed glasses. "Do you have an ap-poin-tah-men-tah?" She said the last word in far too many syllables, moving her lips in an exaggerated fashion, leaning over the desk and resting her chin in one hand. She tapped her stylus on the desk, looking insubordinate and bored with the elf's presence.

Grub did not like how things were going. "Just tell him Corporal Kelp needs to see him."

"You'll need an appointment," she said, though this time with less pronunciation.

Sighing, Grub leaned over, resting his forearms on the desk, allowing him to look straight into the receptionist's face. "Tell him it's about the coffee."

She blinked at this, then flipped her stylus about a few times before jotting a note on her inlaid desk tablet, flicking the mini-document behind her, in the direction of Trouble's office. There was a short pause...

Then Trouble Kelp's door crashed open. The Commander glared across at his brother, trying to cow him into leaving. When Grub merely straightened up and waved, showing a lot of friendly teeth in his smile, Trouble scowled deeper and pointed behind him into his office.

Grub strode in, trying not to saunter. It really would not do to saunter, at the moment, given Trouble's evident irritation. Without being asked, he sat in a chair, but he didn't relax. This was going to be a rather intense conversation, so he sat up straight, focusing closely on his brother as he took the larger, cushier seat behind the Commander's desk.

Trouble groaned as he sat, though not from stiffness. Just anticipation of a conversation that he had gone through _far _too many times for his own good. "Corporal Kelp, how long does it take to brew—"

"That's not what I'm here for, Commander." Grub broke in, raising his head in an effort to look more official than he normally did in his little complaint interviews.

Trouble paused at this, looking his brother over. Initially, he felt relieved. Then he remembered that his brother was still _there,_ and his concern increased. "Then what is this about? I am supposed to meet with the Council in an hour and I really need to prepare my notes before they jump on me about budgets."

Grub did his best to contain a wince. Budgets. That was already a mark against him in this conversation, and it hadn't even truly begun. "This will be quick. I need to be entered in the next exam for a promotion."

Trouble stared at his younger sibling, eyebrows raised. It took him a while to process this comment. Then he began to laugh, falling back in his chair, which proceeded to rock as he continued laughing. "You..._need_..._PROMOTION?_ Funniest...ever." The chair squeaked with each burst of laughter, adding its own inanimate mirth to the commander's hilarity.

Grub sulked. He should have really expected this, but he could always _hope_ that his older brother would take this conversation seriously. Grub pouted, his normal whine sneaking into the voice that he had tried to keep so neutral. "Trubs...I'm _serious_."

"And so am I," Trouble responded, managing to finally control himself, though now he was leaning back in his chair, his legs crossed. "What in the _world_ makes you think you deserve...no, you _don't _deserve a promotion. What makes you think you _need_ one?" He rested his head on the back of the chair, smirking, waiting for what was no doubt going to be another hilarious response.

Grub bit his lip. His first argument was not going to be the most convincing one, given that almost _every_ officer used this excuse when pursing a promotion. "I need the money." It was true. He was going to need a _lot_ of extra money, soon.

Trouble did his best to not laugh, though his shoulders shook and he squeaked a bit. "What, is Mommy raising your portion of the rent?"

There it was. That entire "still living with Mommy" thing. Grub wanted to sulk, but he could _not_ sulk right now. This was serious business. He _had_ to get this done, and going into a funk was not going to help Trouble's mood. "No," he said, working up his courage. This was it. There was only one thing he could say to convince Trouble: the truth.

Vinyaya was going to be pissed.

"I need it because...I...." He swallowed. "I'm going to be a father."

This finally seemed to get through to Trouble, but it was obvious that his mind was following two paths. In one, he was growing steadily angrier at a lie manufactured to obtain his sympathy. In the other, he was giving his little brother the benefit of the doubt. Not that the benefit of the doubt was particularly good for Grub, as Trouble fixated on the one fact that would make Grub's complaint true. "A father. Really. You got...laid?"

Grub blushed. "I...well, yes, I suppose." He scowled and seemed to shrink in his chair. "Do you have to say it _that_ way?"

Trouble snorted. "Yes. You...you actually had _sex_. How in the god's names did you manage to pull that one off?"

Well. There it was. The incredulity. "It wasn't _that_ hard." At his brother's smirk at this choice of words, Grub finally did descend into a sulk. "You know what I mean!"

Trouble sighed, nodding, obviously trying to accommodate this utter destruction of his worldview. His brother. Had sex. With a _woman_. "D'arvit, Grub. You have the worst luck _ever_."

Grub had to jerk back at this, confused. "How is that _bad_?" He had never seen it as such. In fact, he quite enjoyed it.

"Well, it is technically possible to conceive at one go, but _damn_...sorry, bro."

That was it. Any male, even one on the bottom of the social ladder who was accustomed to such jibes, could only take things for so long. Grub had just been bitched out by Vinyáya, and now he was getting nothing but sarcasm from his brother. Enough...was enough.

With a small explosion, Grub took to his feet, slamming his hands on the desk so hard that it shook, making everything on its surface rattle. "You know what? It's _VINYÁYA! _We've been doing it for ten years, _in my office_ on _LEP time!" _ He glared down at his brother, panting heavily, murder in his eyes. "Now, what do you have to say about _that!?!_"

Frankly, Trouble looked a bit green. He looked at his brother, mouth hanging open and small choked sounds coming out. A muscle at the corner of his left eye began to twitch. Eyes darting around just the tiniest, not really looking at anything, but trying to _not_ look at his little brother so he could hopefully avoid imagining the younger elf and the wing commander on a desk. Trouble focused on his tablet. He picked up a pen and tapped it on the screen, trying to think of some sort of document he could bring up that would distract him. Grub, however, wasn't moving, and Trouble guessed that this meant he wasn't either.

Finally, he sighed, shaking his head at the only conclusion that had occurred to him. He began writing on his tablet, transcribing his words into a memo to Foaly. "I think...it's time I looked into putting cameras in the offices."

* * *

**Preview: 'Cause you can look right through me,/ walk right by me,/ and never know I'm there.**


	4. You Can Look Right Through Me

**Song: "Mr. Cellophane" by John C. Reilly  
**

* * *

**Chapter 4: You Can Look Right Through Me  
**

**Week 5, Part 4**

Trouble Kelp wasn't willing to do his brother too many favors, but he did agree to one: despite the fact that the deadline to apply had passed, Trouble squeezed Grub in for the upcoming captain's exam. It meant skipping lieutenant altogether, but that position had just passed and the pay raise between corporal and lieutenant was not significant, in any case. Then Trouble had told Grub where the study materials were kept and sent the younger elf on his way, all the while interrupting every third sentence with "Vinyáya? Are you...sure?"

By the time he was done, Grub was pretty tired of assuring Trouble that, yes, he was sure Vinyáya was the woman he had been sleeping with for the past ten years and who had just come into his office to inform him that she was carrying his child. _Very_ sure.

When the next day came, Grub arrived at Police Plaza several hours early, sequestering himself in his office. The exam was to be held in three months, which should initially seem like plenty of time to prepare. Except for the facts that: a) Grub had not been in the field for ten years and was fairly certain that he couldn't shoot a parapalegic troll at ten paces, b) he had barely squeaked by into corporal, and c) most elves took three _years_ to study for the intense exam.

If the test booklet had been a physical document instead of a data crystal, it would have been about six thousand small-print pages worth of material. It actually took Grub's tablet a few minutes to load, during which time his situation _finally_ began to sink in. His hands began to shake, spilling his morning coffee over his fingers.

A father. A baby. A father _to_ a baby. Against all logic (and perhaps a few LEP betting pools), Grub Kelp had not only gained a significant other, but was going to have a _child_. _Well..._ he thought to himself, _"gained a significant other" might be a bit generous to me._ He had no illusions as to why Vinyáya had visited him for all these years.

His study document finally finished loading, the front page displaying huge text proclaiming it to be the "Lower Elements Police Captain's Exam Study Materials." Below it, at the beginning of the document proper, were the words "You've thought it over, and now you think you're ready for...." Then the text broke off, continued past the edge of his tablet.

Ready for what? He sighed, thinking back on a few moments with Vinyáya over nine years ago, several months into their liaisons.

* * *

Vinyáya pulled at her skirt, straightening out a few wrinkles and pulling it further down her sculpted legs. Then she did the same to her shirt, finally ending by sweeping her work jacket on and flipping her long hair out of the back.

She did this all while facing away from Grub, who was sitting in his office chair, hair a mess and shirt lost somewhere under the desk. The young officer watched her back, but looked away when she turned to say her goodbyes. Despite this evasion, he managed to blurt out: "Wing Commander? Are we...together?"

She rolled her eyes and rested a hand on one hip, her body going into sharp angles as she looked down at the disheveled elf. "We're the only ones in this room, aren't we?"

"That's not what I mean," Grub grumbled, looking at his hands, which were wringing themselves on his lap. "I mean..._this_. What we've been doing. Are you...are we...together?"

There was a short pause. Vinyáya snorted. "Seriously? Gods, you are so...." She shook her head, letting the sentence end, unable to really describe what he was. "No. We are not '_together.' _You are...fun."

Grub flinched, finally managing to look up at her with wounded eyes. "Fun?"

Vinyáya nodded, smirking, as if she had just given him a great compliment. She reached up, combing long, thin fingers through her shining hair. "Don't be so _down_ about that. You're not half bad at this. If you weren't good, I wouldn't have come back."

"Oh." Grub's eyes darted to her feet and he bit his cheek.

She gave a disgusted _tsk_ and stepped forward, placing a thin hand on Grub's head and ruffling his hair in an affectionate manner that Grub was more prone to associate with comforting a foolish puppy than a disappointed lover. "Get over it, Corporal." She gave a harder shake, slightly jerking his head about, and slapped his cheek once, though not enough to sting. "Can't you just go with this?"

He didn't respond. He just let her slip out of the door, leaving him with only the dim hum of the desk lamps as company.

Once alone, Grub clenched his teeth and hands, trying to release some of the tension that flowed through his body. Then, subsiding almost immediately, he crouched under his desk and began searching for his shirt.

* * *

Grub was finally brought out of his recollections by the distant sounds of other LEP office workers arriving at Police Plaza. He shook his head to dissipate the last of the memories, though his body now felt like a rather large weight had been placed upon it, draped over every inch of his flesh as it tried to pull him further towards the center of the Earth. He removed his hands from the coffee—which was now half out of the cup and quite cool—flicking them to remove some of the chilly liquid. With a deep sigh, he began looking for a towel to clean off his desk before it became discolored by the spill.

* * *

**Oh...dear...this fic is going to be 57 chapters long....**

* * *

**Preview: I've got no time for fairy stories/ I'm not a little girl./ So you can leave me all alone/ And turn off the lights as well.**


	5. I Throw My Toys Around

**Song: "I Throw My Toys Around" by No Doubt  
**

* * *

**Chapter 5: I Throw My Toys Around  
**

**Week 5-Part 5:**

Grub stayed up all that night going through the exam outline and making notes for what he would need to work on before the test came around. Each item on the list filled him with a bit more dread and, by item 23, he began to have some serious thoughts about just giving up and looking for a second job. Sadly, the LEP was demanding and didn't even leave enough free hours for a part-time position. If Grub was going to get any extra pay, his was going to either find a completely new career or get a promotion. He didn't like his odds of getting a good letter of recommendation from _any_ of the officers.

So, rather extensive study list folded up in his back pocket and data tablet already on and displaying the test document, he walked into the LEP without bothering to watch exactly where he was going.

This proved to be a mistake.

"Grub! You _jerk_!"

Grub started, the tablet flying out of his hands, shooting forward a few feet and forcing Grub to jump after it. He managed to clip the edge and awkwardly juggle it between his hands until he got a good grip. He stooped over, hyperventilating a bit as he contemplated dropping his prized possession _again_, then finally swallowed and looked up.

Major Holly Short stood not six inches from him, obviously only held back from punching by the knowledge that he would probably hit her back, but instead with far too many formal complaints than were strictly good for her career, rather than his fists. She bent over slightly until their faces were close enough that her spiky red hair brushed his, and hissed out her words. "You have ruined _everything_."

Grub backed up, holding the tablet behind his back to protect it from attack. "W-wait! I was being careful! Vinyáya was the one who made the mistake!"

Holly looked up at him, then stood straight herself, eyeing him. If she were a cat, her ears would be flitting in all directions, searching for whatever outside clues she could use to understand what he was talking about. "I meant the paperwork for Artemis's surface leave. He and I have to go up for the Ritual. You didn't approve his visa and the shuttle leaves in an hour." She squinted at him, already curved upper lip curving just a bit more. "What _are_ you talking about?"

This was bad. This was _very_ bad. What did he mean? "Er...the...the cameras going in the officers?"

Holly shrieked. "That was _you!_" Then she recalled his first reaction. "_Vinyáya?_"

Grub stepped back again, his voice matching Holly's in shrillness. "No! I didn't mean—"

But it was too late. Holly was rushing down the corridors, calling out to the Wing Commander. Once Grub realized what was about to happen (at least in the sense that Vinyáya was going to find out that he had spilled some of their very sensitive information), he rushed after the female, cursing his weak spine and under-exercised legs. He was lucky enough to have longer legs than Holly, but she made up for that advantage by not being a complete weakling. She wrenched open Vinyáya's office door about ten seconds before Grub could get to her. By the time he also stood in the doorway, she was around the woman's desk.

Vinyáya seemed to be moving a bit slow today, or perhaps that was just shock at the sudden entrance of her coworker. She looked up at Holly, mouth open and ready to demand what was going on, when Holly dived full-force into her rant.

"D'arvit, Vinyáya! Artemis and I aren't going to be able to get away with _anything_ now! Why did you have to tell the Commander?"

Vinyáya was, understandably, _not_ amused. She had been in the upper ranks for centuries, and, as much as she liked the new second-in-command, she still saw her as something of an inexperienced upstart. Most especially when she was being yelled at. "Tell...Trouble..._what_?" Then she noticed that Holly was not the only person in the room. She slitted her eyes at Grub.

Grub was filled with the sudden desire to barricade himself in his office. Unfortunately, he was fairly certain Vinyáya had made a spare key in the last ten years, or at least knew where one was kept. She had the annoying (but, he had to admit, kind of pleasant) habit of "visiting" him whenever he was facing a deadline, when the door _should_ have been locked.

"About what Grub was doing in his office!" Now Holly was also glaring at him, looking disgusted.

Vinyáya obviously got where Holly's mind was going the second the words were said, though her ire was only removed from Holly, not from the corporal. She continued looking at him in a way that promised much, much pain and sadness.

Grub was a bit behind the times, but he was catching on incrementally. What _he_ was doing? Didn't she mean _they_? Then he understood. Grub sputtered, shaking his hands at the two women, trying to negate the idea. "No! It wasn't like that! I wasn't _alone! _Tell her, Vinyáya!"

Vinyáya's glare towards him darkened as Holly again focused on the wing commander. It took the major a moment to realize what was being said. When she did, her jaw dropped. "You...I mean...you...and..._Grub_?"

Vinyáya sighed, sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs, thin, manicured fingers twining on her lap. She still radiated malevolence towards Grub (and the young male was fairly certain he was going to wet himself any second now), but she was neutral (and even a bit bland) towards Holly, allowing the woman to come to her own conclusions and respond in whatever fashion best suited her.

Holly looked between Vinyáya and Grub several times. Each time she looked at Vinyáya, her expression seemed to indicate belief. Then she would look at Grub and be overcome with incredulity. Each time she did a circuit, the certainty and uncertainty increased just a fraction. Finally, it seemed to hit the breaking point as she was looking at Vinyáya.

Holly's hands flew to her eyes, the balls of her palms digging into the sockets. She gave a strangled scream, shaking her head and clawing at her hairline. "_OH, GODS! THE VISIONS WONT STOP!_"

Without bothering to look about (certain she would see Grub standing at the door, and that was _not_ an option), Holly crashed out of the office.

Grub watched her go, ears perked to see if she would say anything more descriptive for the other officers and ruin his situation even more. When she did not, he pulled his head back into the office and looked at the wing commander. "Er...isn't she overreacting a bit?"

Vinyáya shrugged. "I'm not sure. I might be a bit distressed if I found out a coworker sleeping with someone so close to death."

At first, Grub thought she was alluding to her age, which was a rather disparaging statement for her to make. She was only six hundred, which was barely approaching middle age for an elf. Then he realized she was talking about _him_. He felt his stomach turn over and considered following Holly in screaming down the corridors.

"_What _did you tell Trouble? I just got the memo about the cameras, as well. I highly doubt the Council will approve the expenditure, but..."

Grub wanted to laugh at this (an insane, terrified laughter, admittedly), given that she was _on_ the Council and would probably be the one to really make that decision, seeing as it concerned the LEP, but he thought better of it. He was _fairly_ certain now was not the time for levity. "He wanted to know why I needed a promotion, and—"

"A _what_?" Vinyáya snapped, looking at him with much more scrutiny than before, though no less venom. "Why do _you_ need a promotion?"

He really wished she wasn't mirroring his own brother's words so closely. It was kind of unnerving. Was this going to be the reaction _everyone _had to his studies? "I need money. For the baby."

"For the..." Vinyáya needed quite some time to process this, and all the while she shook her head, muttering under her breath. Finally, she went on with "I don't need _money_, Kelp. I'm fine with what I get from the Council and the LEP. What I _need_ is for you to keep your mouth _shut_ about what is going on."

Grub wasn't sure if it was wise to do so, but he decided to point out the flaw in her argument. "Wing Commander...you can't exactly _hide_ a baby. Someone is going to find out about the time you, oh, start going into _labor_."

"I wasn't talking about _having_ the baby," Vinyáya said, rolling her eyes. "I meant _you_."

"Me? What about..." Grub halted, the words dying in his throat, leaving him cold inside. He understood. "_No_."

"No? 'No' what?"

"You..." He spoke through clenched teeth, walking slowly up to her desk and doing his best to look strong. He wasn't sure if such an effort would work on Vinyáya. Actually...he wasn't sure he could convince _anyone _in that way, but he had to try. "You are _not_ going to keep me out of this."

"I don't see how you have a choice in the matter," she breezed, swiveling her chair back and forth a few inches and resting her head on the headrest. "Do you think _anyone_ is going to believe that I actually _slept_ with you_? You?"_

No. She was right. No one would believe something like that from him. Perhaps not even if Vinyáya herself said it. After all, why would the stunning, strong Wing Commander go after the gangly Corporal Kelp? Grub himself had his theories as to why (mostly relating to an ability to learn rather quickly and general enthusiasm), but sometimes he woke up in the morning and wasn't really sure that the affair had been going on, despite the ten years that had passed since its inception. "Vinyáya—"

"_Wing Commander_," she hissed, eyes narrowing.

Grub could feel his heart racing, ready to leap out of his throat and present itself in front of the silver-haired elf as a throbbing mass on her desk. "I...Wing Commander..._please_." He met her eyes. "It's my _child_."

"True," Vinyáya nodded, picking up her data tablet and sweeping a long finger across the surface, bringing it out of sleep mode. "But it's my decision, isn't it? Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

What kind of argument was there against that? Vinyáya was right: This was entirely her show. If she wanted a co-star, she could bring him in. If she wanted a solo act, she could get him bounced off stage. Yet there had to be _something_ he could do, even if he couldn't think of it at the moment. "This isn't over."

She groaned, setting the tablet back down and burying her head in a hand. "No, Kelp. I really doubt it is. You never could let something go. Will you be submitting a formal complaint to your big brother?"

He flinched, but did his best to recover quickly. There was nothing he could do at this moment, so Grub slunk out of the room, mind racing for some way he could convince Vinyáya to at least _acknowledge_ him as the father, if not seek him out for help. Wasn't this a bit turned around? Weren't women normally trying to convince the man that he _was_ the father?

Behind him, he heard the "ba-doop" of an incoming e-mail.

About fifteen seconds later, Vinyáya burst out of her office, only a few degrees away from spitting fire. "_Kelp!"_

Grub felt his heart stop. _Oh, gods. What did I do?_

The woman charged down the hall, pushing Grub aside as she passed. "_KELP! I'm going to kill you!_"

At first, Grub thought she had just overshot, aim muddle by rage. Then he realized that the woman was careening down the hall...straight for the Commander's office.

"Oh," Grub murmured, slowly grinning. "_Sweet_." He began to amble down the hall, content to let his lover tear into his brother for whatever he had done this time. It wasn't that far between the two offices. Grub would be there soon enough.

* * *

******Preview: **Don't want to be your monkey wrench./ One more indecent accident./ I'd rather leave than suffer this./ I'll never be your monkey wrench.


	6. Monkey Wrench

**Song: "Monkey Wrench" by the Foo Fighters**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Monkey Wrench**

**Week 5-Part 6:**

When Grub finally poked his head into the commander's office, he wasn't sure if he should feel amused or sympathetic.

Trouble was leaned over his desk, both elbows on the surface, holding his cheeks in cupped hands. His expression was blank except for a slight raise of the eyebrows that showed some interest, but not that much, all things considered. He seemed a few moments away from yawning, actually, and that did not seem to be helping the mood of his "conversation partner" in the very least.

Vinyáya was screaming into his face, words no longer coherent, and only a few degrees of rage away from actual spittle. She looked like a guard dog kept on its chain too long, finally coming across the opportunity to scare that damn neighborhood kid with the skateboard. A pity that the kid had the full measure of the dog's chain.

Trouble looked past her, ignoring the woman's efforts to get back in his face, and focused on Grub. "Come in and close the door, will you, Bro?"

Grub retreated a step, really wanting to close the boor _between_ himself and the two commanders, but then thought better of it. He might escape whatever confrontation was about to happen, but he certainly wouldn't escape his brother's wrath later on. Unless Vinyáya actually killed him...but he didn't really relish that idea. Too much.

So Grub entered and clicked the door closed, locking it as well, then faced the raging female elf and her nonplussed victim. "So...."

"This _brother_ of yours," Vinyáya snarled, making "brother" sound more like "murderous traitor" than was strictly necessary, "just sent out an office-wide memo about..._it_."

Grub now was fairly certain he should have run. Entrails would soon coat the walls, if this was true. He liked his entrails. He liked them _inside_, and in the proper cavities and orientations.

Trouble just yawned, patting at his mouth in a delicate manner. He then spun about his computer screen so it faced them both. "If you didn't rush into things so quickly, Wing Commander, then you would notice that the only person who received this _draft_ of an office-wide memo...was _you_."

Vinyáya tilted the screen up and studied it. What she saw did nothing to appease her. "So you..._taunted_ me? _Threatened_ me?"

Trouble looked to the ceiling, considering this. Then he nodded once, smiling. "Right-o, Arnica!"

Grub looked at his brother and scowled. _Arnica? _No one called Vinyáya by her first name. Honestly, he would have been unnerved to learn that her own parents used her first name.

Vinyáya didn't seem to appreciate this, either. She spoke in a tone that was almost identical to the one she had used with Grub only minutes ago. Just with a bit less venom. "What the _hell_ did you just call me?"

"Arnica," Trouble repeated. At her continued incredulity, he hummed, as if musing further. "I suppose 'Vin-Vin' would also work."

"No," Vinyáya said, taking several deep breaths, fighting to regain her control. Losing her temper was never as effective for her as it had proved for some of the other commanders and seconds. "It would _not_ work. You will address me as _Wing Commander_."

"No," Trouble said, "not so long as you have that." He pointed at Vinyáya's stomach.

Vinyáya looked down at her stomach, frowning, as if it was the source of all of her problems. Then she looked at Grub, remembering that _he_ was technically the source.

Grub smiled, hoping it was a winning one.

It, apparently, wasn't. She pointed at the computer screen, growling. "What do you have to say about this?"

Grub knew it was a stupid thing to say, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Wow. You actually want to know my opinion?"

Both of the commanders looked shocked at this small retaliation. Before either could dwell on it too long, Grub stepped closer and read the memo. He had to grin. It was a standard "milestone" announcement, meant to keep the office workers generally up-to-date about the marriages, births, and so on of their coworkers. This one was a pregnancy announcement. Then he read the text:

_Trouble Kelp and Arnica Vinyáya would like to announce that they are expecting their first child. They are expecting it to be born near blah blah blah...._

Trouble.

Grub had never wanted to hit his brother so much. He could feel rage rising up in his stomach, fueling the fire that tensed his arms and fists. "You and Vinyáya? You _bas_—"

"Hold it!" Trouble shouted, looking genuinely alarmed. "No. We've _never_ been involved." He was actually backing his chair up, which would have made Grub proud if he were thinking coherently. "You should be thanking me."

"_Thanking you_?" Grub shrilled. "For _what_?"

"For getting the Wing Commander here..." Trouble smirked, already feeling he was back in control of the situation, "to think things through."

Perhaps it was the rage, but Grub just didn't get it. He looked to Vinyáya, who seemed rather pale at this conversation. "What is he talking about?"

Vinyáya sighed and the exhale seemed to take all of the wind, rage, and energy out of her. She collapsed into a chair, hanging her head, long hair covering her face. There was enough emotion in her normally cool tone to give a few clues, however, and the tone at the moment was dejected. "Corporal...think for a moment about what would happen if the Commander claimed he was the father."

Grub thought about it, but he found he really couldn't think long, as about all that came to mind was _It's not fair! Trubs steals everything I want and never even leaves me his seconds!_ Rather than voicing this, he just glowered until someone gave him more information.

"What," Vinyáya drawled, rolling her hand in the air to urge his thoughts on, "would they say about _me_?"

"That you...slept with Trouble?" Grub didn't even like to say that. It was as if voicing the possibility could make it happen. He glared at Trouble.

"Noooooo," his brother said, finally grinning again, in spite of the threatening looks coming from both of his guests. He really liked this entire "artful manipulation" thing. No wonder Fowl did it so often. "They would say she was sleeping with...the _Commander_."

"My career," Vinyáya moaned shaking her head, "would be _ruined_."

Grub blinked. He got it...somewhat. "But you got your position before Trouble got his."

"But," Trouble said, holding a finger up like an inventor who had just had his breakthrough, "if she is willing to sleep with the _current_ commander...."

"Oh...." Grub didn't smile at this, even if his brother was so obviously amused. Implicating Commander Root and his predecessor, Commander Alder...it felt dirty. "But...you didn't send it." He was glad of that. Grub had the feeling that the LEP would easily believe Trouble claiming he had fathered Vinyáya's child (hell, Grub was surprised he wasn't a father already, given all of his conquests), but they would never be convinced that it was _actually_ Grub once the message was sent about the two Commanders. Even if he managed to prove things with DNA tests. And charts. And any other sort of evidence he could bring forward.

"That's the point," Trouble said, exasperated with his younger brother (not that this was an uncommon state). Really, had he no political inclinations? No wonder he'd languished as a corporal for so long. "I can send this out at_ any _time."

"Any time?" Grub asked, wondering if he could guess his brother's password and delete the file. He was not going to let him parade as the father of Grub's child, that was for _damn_ sure.

"Any time...that the Wing Commander does something completely out of line." He held up a hand, asking both of the other elves to keep their protests in check while he went on. "Do _not_ think this is some plot to get you in our clutches, Vinyáya. This is for...civility."

"_Civility_," Vinyáya hissed, finally looking up, teeth bared and looking remarkably viper-like. "Why, by all the gods, do I have to be _civil_?"

"Well," Trouble said, choosing his words quite carefully, although he was sure they would still enrage the woman. "A child's parents shouldn't fight, correct?"

"We wouldn't _fight. _You can't fight if you don't talk. I don't intend to let the corporal to be involved in my life in _any _way."

Grub flinched. That was still such a...terrifying idea.

"Ah...." Trouble shook his head, benevolent, yet quite smug. "That is _precisely_ what I am talking about. You see, Grub came in here yesterday—shortly after you talked, I imagine—and told me about this development between you two, and asked about being promoted to captain, so he could assist you in at least a financial sense. Now, I must say, I was...astonished."

"I've got to say," Vinyáya sneered, cutting her eyes at Grub, "I'm surprised, too. I didn't think he'd actually try to be _responsible_ about this."

Grub sulked.

Trouble did not.

The Commander sprang to his feet, startling the paired elves. "_Wing Commander!_ You _obviously_ have not been _talking_ with my brother during your little 'meetings' in his office, or else you would know him better. He may be a complete and total prat and a pain in all of the LEP's collective asses—"

Grub scowled, but didn't deny it.

"—but he certainly not _irresponsible_. In his twenty year career, he has never called in sick to work, and he is rarely late. He consistently finishes his assignments ahead of schedule, under budget, and with the lowest error rate of any officer. He has _never_ even been _noticed_ by Internal Affairs, barring a brief interview after the Fowl Siege—where he was commended for following LEP regulations by not surrendering his weapon when asked to by Butler, I might add—and when Opal Koboi escaped, where he was similarly acquitted, due to the intricate nature of the Brill brother's plans.

"He explained this entire little affair to me—once I managed to get over my shock—and I was impressed at how he handled things. A ranking officer comes up to him and says she is going to do a series of...rather _indelicate_ things to him, and do you know what he did?"

Vinyáya was too flabbergasted by this lecture to respond with anything except a shake of the head.

"He stayed late at work to make up for his lost time, and then he complained to Fairy Resources so much that he managed to see a doctor _that night _and got proper contraceptives." Trouble laughed, shaking his head in continued disbelief. "Dear Frond, he's _boring_ as hell, but he is certainly not _irresponsible_. It strikes me, Wing Commander, that _you _are the one who did not do her part to prevent this pregnancy, making the only _truly_ irresponsible person in this office _you_."

Vinyáya was silent a long time, staring at Trouble. Them finally, she looked to Grub, raising her eyebrows. She seemed to be deciding what to focus on, and what she finally alighted upon surprised everyone in the office (including herself). "You...stayed late at work? Gods, Corporal, you are so _lame_."

"See," Trouble said, shaking a finger at the Wing Commander. "That's what I am talking about! Would it kill you to say something nice? Or at least _productive_?"

"I believe there have been far too many productive moments between us," Vinyáya said coolly, finally collecting herself and leaning back in the chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. She looked back to Trouble, deciding he was the one she should be working with in this situation, regardless of Grub's position in the goings-on. Trouble was the one with the power. "Fine. He is trying to become financially solvent. However, I do not need nor want his money. I can take care of things on my own."

"Well...I..." Grub swallowed when they turned back to him. He was really not liking all this attention from the Commanders, even if one of them was (most likely...he wasn't really sure) on his side. "I figured it was only right for me to help you, if I'm going to be involved in—"

"No," Vinyáya said, raising a hand to stop the young man before he went on. "You are not going to be _involved_ in anything. I told you already. I shall be dealing with things on my own."

"_Things?_" Grub spouted. "This is not a _thing_, Vinyáya. This is my..._our_ child. Like it or not, I will be involved."

She stared at him. "What...is _wrong_ with you, Corporal? Why do you even _want _to do this?"

Grub did not speak. His eyes flickered to his brother, who squeezed his lips together, effectively forbidding a response.

"He has his reasons," Trouble supplied before his often-dense younger sibling could make the mistake of going on. "That is not the issue. Will you allow him to help you with this child?"

"No!" Vinyáya snorted without hesitation.

Grub whimpered. "You can't _do_ that!" He paused, then appealed to his brother. "R...right?"

Trouble thought about this, then sighed, sitting back in his seat. "Technically...yes. Realistically...no. If you want to be in the child's life, you need to establish paternity. That can be done with simple tests of course, but the Wing Commander will ether have to _agree_ to that test, or you will have to go to court to demand one. I've never heard of a judge denying one for such a simple case as this, but...it would still take months to even get into the system, then possibly years get through trials and win limited visitation. In essence...this is Vinyáya's call."

Vinyáya smirked, well aware of these facts beforehand, but glad someone else realized what was going on and who was in charge.

Grub was, of course, not so pleased. "But...but that's not _fair_!"

Trouble nodded, but he also shrugged. "In your case, perhaps not. But in others...not all men are good men, Grub."

"But..." Grub hung his head, question barely peeping out. "I'm a good man...right?"

Trouble didn't even need to think about this, but he responded slowly, a half-smile on his face. "If you aren't now, I think you're getting there. Which is really why I called you both in here."

"You didn't precisely _call_ us," Vinyáya pointed out, not liking where this was going.

"True," the Commander agreed, tapping the side of his screen to draw their attention back to the unsent memo. "My brother has stepped up to the situation in a manner that I find quite commendable. I would hope that, for any other couple, you would agree that the father was being responsible by doing what he is doing. So...I propose a compromise."

Grub wasn't fond of compromises. He rarely found himself satisfied with the results.

"Being...?" Vinyáya said, likewise skeptical.

"The exam is in about three months." Trouble began, pulling up a calendar with a few quick taps on his keyboard. "The test is rigorous to begin with, but taking it with so little preparation, and after so long out of the field...I don't think it's ever been done before. If Grub manages to get this promotion, then it will be because he put in an exorbitant number of hours on studying. If he manages to pass in three months...."

Vinyáya frowned. "Then I tell everyone he is the father?"

"No," Trouble said, shaking his head, completely disappointing his younger brother. "That would be too easy. I was merely going to say that his success would show an amazing dedication to the cause. He has shown no desire to become a captain until now, so it is obvious that he is only doing this for yo...ur child." Trouble barely managed to connect the words in time to avoid embarrassment all around. "And, if he passes, you can take that into consideration when you tell everyone that you are pregnant, and decide if you want him to be known as the father. I will not force you to admit it, but I _will_ force you to give him the chance to prove himself."

"A chance," Vinyáya said, looking quite bored. "That's all? Fine. I'll agree to that." She smiled a little, her thoughts all too obvious. Regardless of whether Grub managed to pass his exam, it would just be a matter of her claiming the child was the result of a one-night-stand, and she would be off the hook until after the birth. Even if Grub fought for acknowledgement as the father afterward, she would still have the excuse to back her up later on, when people asked _why_ she slept with him. DNA was undeniable, sure, but no one needed to know about her being rational during the entire process.

"Well...not _all_." Trouble hedged, suddenly looking nervous. He locked gazes with his younger brother, who was obviously confused, as well as disappointed that things were not going his way. "Regardless of if you tell the world at large, you _will_ need to tell _one_ other person about the child. If you wait until after the birth to do so, then...the shit-storm will be _immense_."

Grub paled. Then he whimpered. Then he began to tremble, shaking his head. "Oh, no.... Please, Trubs, _no!_"

"Yes," Trouble confirmed gravely. "And don't call me 'Trubs.' This is one thing you _can not_ put off, and you know it."

"Nooooooooo." Grub backed up until he knocked into the closed door. He closed his eyes tight, in much the same way a little child will use a lack of sight to convince themselves that the bogeyman can not possibly get them.

Vinyáya now looked genuinely alarmed. She glanced between the brothers, expecting some genetic-defect-related doctor's visit. As time went on and neither of the brothers revealed the true source of their nerves, she thought it best to just come out and ask. "Who? Who do I have to see?"

Trouble shuddered, suddenly looking very similar to his distressed little brother. A bit shorter hair and a lack of muscles, and they might actually be recognizable as siblings. "The most terrifying woman in the Lower Elements."

Grub let out a long groan that was halfway to a sob. "_Mommy!_"

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**Preview: And suddenly I become a part of your past/ I'm becoming the part that don't last/ I'm losing you and its effortless.**


	7. In Over My Head

**So, if anyone has been paying attention, I've been hinting at this theory I have about Vinyáya and her hair several times when she's mentioned in passing. So...don't be blindsided, okay? I'm not saying the theory is right or not in this fic...I'm just putting it out there, okay?  


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**Song: "Cable Car (In Over My Head)" by the Fray

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**Chapter 7: In Over My Head**

**Week 6-Part 1:**

After discussing locations, it was decided that meeting "Mommy" at her (and Grub's) house would put Vinyáya at too much of a disadvantage, while meeting at Vinyaya's would lead to similar inconveniences. Given the occasional penchant for the fairy paparazzi to follow either of the Commanders on a slow news day, meeting in public was also out of the question. So, in the end, they settled on a dinner at Trouble's apartment. It was a small bachelor pad, but the kitchen was passably useful, and the dining area large enough for four, if they squeezed in.

Grub arrived with Trouble and set to work with his less culinary-inclined sibling as his assistant, relegating the elder elf to the task of preparing a salad while he focused on the main and side dishes. Grub moved easily in the kitchen, but the second he stepped out of it to cool off, he would begin to shake.

"This is _not_ going to end well."

Trouble looked up from the tomatoes he had been cutting, and whistled between his teeth. "Nope."

"You are _supposed_ to reassure me." Grub pointed out, taking deep breaths to calm his frayed nerves. It wasn't helping much.

"Well, you're not giving me much to work with here, Grub." Trouble tossed the tomatoes in and began to mix the salad about, adding in oil and vinegar as he did. "Vinyáya is older than our mother, so she's not going to like _that_. She's above you in the LEP, and mother doesn't even approve of dating _within_ the LEP, much less with such a difference in positions. Then there's the rumors about her bloodline...."

Grub groaned, knocking his head into a wall. "Don't mention that, please!"

"Oh, like mother doesn't _know_ that about Vinyáya. _Everyone_ has suspicions about where she got that _hair_." Trouble shook his head, putting the over-sized fork and spoon he was using with the salad down on the counter. "I mean, Grub...if you wanted to pick someone to piss Mother off, you picked a real winner." He gave his brother a thumbs-up.

"I didn't pick her!" Grub protested, reappearing in the kitchen to tend to the Alfredo sauce. "She picked _me._"

Trouble stared at the future father. "That still confuses the _hell_ out of me."

Grub just glared at him and ordered Trouble to add some walnuts to the salad, which the commander dutifully did.

When Vinyáya arrived a few minutes later carrying a small box containing a cake, the corporal stared at the item as it was placed on the counter, wrinkling his nose.

"Store-bought?" He said it in much the same manner that humans would say "Nazis?" He lifted the lid off and sniffed at the baked good.

"Oh, excuse me," Vinyáya snapped, snatching the lid back and replacing it. "I just find myself a little short on baking materials, at the moment. Not everyone has a stocked pantry and smashing apron."

Grub looked down at his apron, which displayed puppies frolicking with kittens in a field of tulips. He looked up, dignified. "I think it's cute."

"I think it's something a unicorn would throw up."

"And I think," Trouble broke in, stepping out of the kitchen and supplying Vinyáya with a stack of plates and utensils, "that you should set the table. Mother will be here any moment. Make _absolutely_ sure you set it the 'proper' way." He said this with air quotes.

Vinyáya blinked, trying to decide if he was serious. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes," both brothers responded at the same time, Grub looking alarmed at her question.

After a pause and a shrug, Vinyáya got to her task, glad she was required to attend so many formal functions for the Council, as it had taught her (second-hand) how to set up a table. She had just put down the last wine glass when the buzzer rang.

Grub nearly dropped the pasta he had been straining, only saved by his brother, who put a hand under the steaming colander to halt its descent. Once Grub had a firm grip, Trouble took his hand away, shaking it and flooding the injured skin with blue sparks to heal the small heat blisters. "D'arvit d'arvit_ d'arvit_!" He flexed his hand, then dried it off on his black jeans. "Okay. Calm down. Nobody panic." He looked about quickly, ponytail flying. "Grub, sauce the pasta. I'll get the door. Vinyáya...." He looked to the Wing Commander.

She tilted her head and crossed her arms, waiting for whatever command he would dare give.

"Er...stand there and look pretty."

Vinyáya blinked. She wasn't sure if she should be pleased at such an easy task or insulted at it. In compromise, she uncrossed her arms, though she now clasped her hands behind her sea-green wrap dress, looking half military and half casual, but all unapproachable femininity.

Neither of the brother's paid her much notice, except for a brief blush from Grub, who proceeded to put his hands on his cheeks. Feeling the warmth there, he dove head-first into the freezer. When he came out, he was back to normal shades and went about portioning the plates.

Trouble approached the door, stopping a moment to tug at the ends of his turtleneck shirt and tighten his ponytail before putting his hand on the knob. He paused again, taking an incredibly deep breath. Then he wrenched the door open. "Mother! You're here!"

Vinyáya frowned. Her parents had passed a few centuries ago, but she had always greeted them with something along the lines of "I missed you!" Not "Oh, gods, you've arrived!" Her frown soon disappeared, replaced by a gape.

The woman who walked into the apartment was...stunning. There was no other word for it. She was tall (only a few centimeters below the similarly gifted Kelp boys) and lithe, with one of those figures that would make all but a supermodel descend into rage over the unfair disparity in female anatomy. Her hair was red, glossy, and well-tended, most of it allowed to fall freely around her shoulders. The woman wore a black cocktail dress and one of the largest trios of diamonds Vinyáya had ever seen (and she spent most of her social nights with the Council or on Principality Hill), one at the tip of either ear, and a final one (this twice as large and light green, which shocked Vinyáya, as the color was even a rarity among the gem-filled Lower Elements) dangling just below her collarbone. Her shoes were unnervingly high-heeled, but the woman didn't seem to falter a moment, despite the fact that she was unable to correct her balance much, due to carrying a vase full of blue tulips.

Vinyáya shot a glance at Grub's apron. The man noticed her gaze and looked down, but he seemed to be in control enough to avoid a second blush. He ripped the item off and threw it into the cabinet under the sink.

"My _baby!_" She crooned, leaning into her eldest. They placed their heads side to side and made a loud "mwah!" noise (Trouble flicking his eyes to Vinyáya, who only rolled her eyes). When they pulled away, Trouble now holding the flowers, she grabbed the man's shoulders and held him at arm's length, looking him over. "Oh...honey. You still have your hair in that ridiculous ponytail?"

"It keeps it out of my face, Mother." Trouble replied, smiling a little, though it didn't extend very far along his face.

"Well, short hair would do that, too. You should really consider getting it cut. Your father went through his entire time in the LEP with a buzz-cut, and it did his career _wonders_. The Commanders really took notice of _that_ clean-cut elf." She let her hand hover near her mouth, which was set in an almost impish grin as she mentioned the deceased officer.

"Mother," Trouble replied, shaking his head, smile even more pained than before, "I'm the _Commander_, now. There's nowhere above to go."

"Oh, but honey! There's always the possibility of getting on the Council."

Vinyáya did her best to hold in a snort, instead turning it into a cough. Even _Root_ had barely begun to be considered for the great conical hat, and that was after nearly fifty years as Commander. Trouble shouldn't be looking forward to a position any time soon.

The cough seemed to catch the woman's attention. She leaned to the side and caught sight of Vinyáya. Her eyes darted back to her son and she grinned. "Trouble...honey, is _this_ the reason you invited me over? Are you already being put in a seat!?" She began to bounce.

Vinyáya tried to avoid staring at the mother's chest. It was _very_ distracting, even to her. _Gods...this woman is younger than me, isn't she?_

"No," Trouble said quickly, breaking away and taking long strides into the dining room. He placed the vase on the table as the centerpiece and returned to the entryway, standing beside the female officer. "Something else, mother. Let me introduce you to Councilwoman and Wing Commander Arnica Vinyáya. Vinyáya, this is my mother, Hibiscus Brenner."

Both women clasped hands and shook. Vinyáya did her best to avoid a reaction to the name, but her eyebrows raised, despite herself.

Hibiscus trilled out a laugh, patting the back of Vinyaya's hand and squeezing it between her own. "Oh, I changed it back, after the divorce. I just _hated_ having two plant names."

Vinyáya nodded in agreement, but wasn't exactly sure what she was agreeing _with_. This woman reminded her of some of the better actors on the Hill. If she was going to keep this situation from growing awkward, she was going to have to use her own social skills. "It's wonderful to meet you, Ms. Brenner. I'm afraid your sons haven't sufficiently prepared me. What is it that you do?"

Hibiscus looked at Trouble, pouting. "You didn't _tell_ her? Well, I feel so _special_, now!"

Trouble grinned sheepishly. Out of sight of his mother, Grub flinched.

Ms. Brenner turned back to Vinyáya. "I'm the manager of PPTV's style and entertainment programs."

That explained her attitude and attire, at least. Hibiscus looked like she had stepped right out of a fashion shoot, as would be expected of a woman in her position. The 'entertainment' part, however.... Vinyáya barely contained a twitch. 'Entertainment' never meant 'amusement' in the television and film industry. This woman headed up all the broadcasts on celebrity news and gossip. Which meant Vinyáya was one of her biggest targets.

The manager seemed to realize what was going through the woman's mind, as she cooed and tutted, shaking her head. "Oh, no worries, Councilwoman. PPTV has had nothing but good things to say about you for _decades_. Besides, nothing we say here will go beyond this apartment, unless you allow it. Deal?"

Behind his mother's back, Trouble nodded violently.

Vinyáya did as well, though much more slowly. "I will hold you to that, ma'am."

"Oh, please," the woman gave the officer's hand a final shake before letting it go. "Call me 'Hibiscus.' I would hate to be called 'ma'am' and 'miss' all night! Now, if you'll excuse me, I do believe I gave birth to another son. Where is he...?" She tapped off, drifting into the kitchen, where she began the loud and drawn-out process of greeting her youngest, along with similar complaints about the length of his hair.

Vinyáya watched her go and, once she was out of sight, grabbed Trouble's upper arm and pulled him close, hissing. "You never said she was a _reporter_."

Trouble leaned down, voice very low, making sure his mother's sensitive elven hearing wouldn't pick up the conversation. "You never asked, and I knew you wouldn't come if you knew. Besides, you just got her word that she wouldn't say anything, and that is _far_ more than I had hoped for. You are _golden_."

"_Golden!_" Vinyáya snapped, tightening her grip on the man's arm. "_Golden_ would be if she was a deaf-mute. This is _plutonium_. The _gossip_ columnist, Kelp!"

"Hey," Trouble twisted his arm, leading to a brief martial arts battle as both officers fought for either freedom or a tighter grip until he finally managed to release himself. "Just trust me on this. She wont mention _anything_ we say here. It's part of her professional code. Now, she might change her focus on you in her reporting, but...." He shrugged.

That didn't sound all that reassuring, but Vinyáya had to go with it. If she didn't, it would be one inter-office memo, and then _all_ of Haven would know, and they would know the fabricated, much-less-flattering version of what was going on. "Fine. Just...fine." She really didn't have much room for a witty comeback, so Vinyáya wandered into the dining room and took a seat at the glass table, long nails drumming the surface.

Trouble came in soon after, claiming the seat to her right. Grub and Hibiscus soon came in with two salad bowls each, setting them on the table, Grub sitting across from Vinyáya with his mother to his left.

The dinner conversation was swift, but predictable. Hibiscus was wild for news on how her sons were doing in the LEP, and prodded Vinyáya for the information she was just _sure_ (she said this with a little giggle) they were hiding. Vinyáya managed to provide a few details (mostly on Trouble's involvement in the various Fowl capers), but she kept tight-lipped for the most part. Grub certainly wasn't a part of her normal work day (well...except for one portion of the day, and she doubted that could be considered 'LEP business') and most of her time spent with Trouble was on top-secret missions.

Vinyáya had to admit that, while the conversation wasn't to her liking, the food was _amazing_. The first bite of the fettuccine was shocking enough to make her choke, but not from an obstructed airway. She wasn't fond of the mental images conjured up by the term "like an orgasm in my mouth," but it was a fair description. She stared, wide-eyed, at Grub, who smiled and gave her a little nod. After that, she did her best to not wolf down the food, though a glance from Hibiscus told her she might not be succeeding. Still, the officer tried. She may have been "eating for two," but she wasn't going to allow herself to balloon up on delicious..._delicious _pasta.

At the end of the meal, Grub carried in the cake Vinyáya had brought. She stared at it a minute and had to put a hand over her mouth to hide her wicked smile. He had transferred it onto a rather nice serving plate and proceeded to drizzle on what appeared to be chocolate syrup and powdered sugar, making it appear that the item had been home-cooked and decorated on the plate. Trouble also smirked, but Hibiscus didn't seem to notice the general amusement, taking over the task of cutting and serving.

Just as they were about to tuck into the final dish, Trouble laid his fork across his plate and took a deep breath. "Mother...there _is_ a reason Vinyáya is here."

Hibiscus also put down her fork (followed by the last two dinner guests, both looking significantly less at ease) and folded her hands on the table. She was almost still, but Vinyáya felt a little tremor in the table caused by the woman's jiggling leg. She _expected_ something, that much was obvious. "Yes? To what do I owe the pleasure of getting to see my sons of an evening?"

Both of the boys looked at Vinyáya. She glared between them. They did not respond. This went on for quite some time, with Hibiscus glancing around, her smile growing wider all the time.

Finally, Vinyáya broke. She needed something to distract her, however, so she took the napkin in her hands and began to twist the ends slowly. "I...that is your son and I...we...." She took a deep breath. "We're going to have a baby." She smiled slightly, trying to look confidant.

There was a very long pause.

Hibiscus shrieked. She leapt out of her seat, circling around the table to hug Vinyáya to her chest, momentarily suffocating the startled woman. "I _knew_ it! I just _knew it!_ Oh, my dear, _congratulations!_ I am so _excited_, I can not even begin! I have been waiting to be a grandmother for _such _a long time."

"Um...thank you, ma'am." Vinyáya tried to smile wider, but it was weak. At least the woman wasn't ranting or begging to be allowed to do a TV special.

"Oh, this is _wonderful_." It seemed that the grandmother was the one taking on the pregnancy glow. She held Vinyáya out to give her an inspection, as if sizing up her child-bearing capabilities, and gave a satisfied "Ah!" that seemed good-natured and somewhat relieved. "After all this time...and _you!_"

Grub lowered his head, grinning.

Hibiscus surged forward and wrapped her arms around Trouble. "After all this time, you finally managed to find the right one!"

Grub slammed his forehead on the table.

Trouble, understandably, utterly freaked out. He stood up, dragging his mother off the ground before she let his neck go and fell onto her unstable feet. "No! It's not me!"

"Not you, honey?" Hibiscus blinked, smile faltering. "But she said...."

Then she froze.

Vinyáya felt her heart-rate double. She darted a look at Grub, who also seemed halfway to (or perhaps only a fraction distant from) a panic attack. He was now sitting straight, but his eyes were wide. Deer-in-the-headlights eyes. Deer-just-obliterated-by-a-semi eyes.

Hibiscus took her seat. She didn't look at any of the other dinner partners. She took up her fork and took in a mouthful of cake. She hummed, nodding at the flavorful baked good, and finally spoke. "I suppose you'll be needing money, then."

Vinyáya balked. If this woman was the head of the society columns, that should have been the _last_ thing she said. "No. I am quite prepared in that department. I have my LEP and Council salary, after all." Not to mention the Section 8 paycheck, which was roughly the same as the other two combined.

"No, no." Hibiscus waved her fork-filled hand at this. "It's only right that we put in half of the money."

"I don't see how you're going to do that," Vinyáya replied, also taking up her fork. She felt the sudden urge to be similarly armed. "The LEP health insurance is quite good. I wont have to pay anything."

"Yes you will," Hibiscus countered, taking another bite before continuing. "I helped Grub look into the options last open-enrollment. The LEP doesn't cover abortions."

Vinyáya's fork clattered to the plate.

"Now, I know a very nice doctor off Amythest St. Very discreet, very affordable. He does this all the time, and you'll be back at work by the next day." Hibiscus scraped her fork on the bottom of the plate, scooping up the raspberry syrup and last crumbs, popping the fork into her mouth and sucking is clean. "I assume this is a new development? It's a bit harder on the body in the second and third months, so you might want to schedule things on a weekend, if you're worried about missing work. And tell him _I_ sent you, if he gives you any problems with making an appointment."

Vinyáya had to take a drink of water to steady herself. Then she shook her head. "No, you misunderstand me. I am not getting an abortion. I am having this child."

"Oh, don't be silly, dear." Ms. Brenner shook her fork in the air, chuckling. It sounded like fine silver bells. "This is _serious_."

"I _know_ it is serious, Hibiscus. I have made my decision."

At the sound of her name, the woman cringed, but she did not retract her earlier offer to use the familiar word. "You are _not_...having a child with my son."

Vinyáya clutched at the glass, fingers squeaking on the condensation-covered surface. "Yes, I _am_." _Gods...did I just say that?_

Hibiscus turned to her youngest. "Grubby, dear. Tell her you aren't. You have a say in this, right?"

Vinyáya could see Grub's pulse in his neck, and it was going at an alarming pace. He swallowed and flicked his eyes away from his mother. "We are—"

"_Look at me, Grubby_," Hibiscus exploded, causing her son to focus on her completely.

"We...we...we...."

"Finish your sentence, dear. 'We are _not_ having an unwanted baby.'"

"We...we..."

Vinyáya closed her eyes and lowered her head. She should have known this was how it would end. He was just too...easily manipulated. After all, it had been one of the reasons she had chosen him as her partner. A weak spine was just so much easier to bend into the positions she wanted.

Grub swallowed. Then he spoke at a slow pace, voice soft, never looking away from his mother's eyes. "We _are_ having this baby. It _is_ wanted. I am happier than I have _ever_ been, Mommy."

Everyone looked at Grub, astonished. Even he appeared surprised, turning an unnatural green shade as his mother narrowed her eyes.

"No..." she growled, taking a deep, steadying breath, though it did little to alter her faltering composure. "You are _not_ having some...some...part-human _beast_ with this _woman!_"

Vinyáya felt the familiar rage building in her. Part-human. She stood slowly, still holding onto her glass, intending to fling the cold water into the woman's face. "How..._dare_ you. I am not _part-_human. The Vinyáya's have no record of interbreeding with the Mud Men, as you should know!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hibiscus said in that cutting tone that said she was not sorry _at all_. "How far back do those records go again?"

"Fifteen generations!"

"Oh...is that all?" The natural red-head smirked. "The Brenners and Kelps both go back about forty generations. So...you're just a bit _murky_, then. Not full of mud."

_Mud._ Vinyaya's hand began to rise, water at the ready.

Grub bolted around the table, yanking the water out of her grasp and immediately backing up. Which was perhaps wise, though it did not spare him from the glares of both women.

Hibiscus clutched at the table, addressing her son, even though she was glaring at Vinyáya. "Didn't you _know_, Grubby? I mean...that _hair_."

Grub looked at Vinyáya's silver hair. A half-elf would have a lot of human features, but someone with only a tinge of human ancestry would also only have a tinge of human traits. A slightly above-average level of aggression. A rounding to the ears. An eye color out of normal fairy shades. Rumor had it that, in Vinyáya's case, it was hair that changed color to the silver-grey of an old human woman when she entered her sixtieth year. For over five hundred years, she had dyed it regularly. It was only shortly before the Hybras incident that she had finally given up on hiding and allowed her natural color to come out. "Yes, Mommy. I knew."

Vinyáya did not appear grateful at the admission. For him to say he was aware of her questionable bloodline was like a sprite saying he was aware that other fairies didn't have wings. Everyone knew. It was mostly ignored, given that there was no proof, but it was times like this that fairies looked a bit more closely at each others ancestry. "Why would you be okay with this if it had been Trouble, but not for _him?_"

"Trouble knows what he is doing. Grub is still so...."

"Easy to manipulate?" Vinyáya supplied.

"Hmmm." Hibiscus gave Vinyáya a slit-eyed, sideways smile, then turned back to her son. "Honey, I doubt you were thinking of her genetics when you were...involved." Hibiscus waved her hand at the idea. "I doubt this was planned, correct?" At the general silence, she nodded. "As I thought. Well, this is easy enough to fix, as I said. You must want that, right, Grubby? Having a child with..._her_ will be terribly difficult. Don't you think?"

"I...yes." Grub nodded.

"Well, there you are. Just tell her that you don't want that burden, and I'm sure she will agree." She looked to the wing commander. "Being a single mother is just so hard, I can assure you. I raised these boys on my own, after their father left us and died in action." She sighed, almost seeming sad, but Vinyáya was no longer convinced. "So, Grubby, tell me what you want to do."

Grub looked at the ground. It would be hard for him, as well. Not just in the normal sense of how parenting is difficult. This was parenting in a practical war zone. The conversations he'd had with Vinyáya in Trouble's office and tonight were the longest exchanges he had ever had with the wing commander. In fact, each one was longer than their collective conversations in the LEP. She didn't want him, and he wasn't even sure if she would allow him to be recognized as the father without a huge battle. Just getting his promotion so she would _consider_ his involvement was going to take more out of him that he had ever thought he would have to give. It would be...so _hard._

Grub cleared his throat and looked at his mother. Locked eyes with her and felt a chill run down his spine at her smile. It was so soft and loving. The smile any mother would give to her youngest child, even when he has gotten himself into a fix. Especially when she could solve his problems with a short phone call, an appointment, and a modest check.

Finally, still looking at her, heart breaking, Grub spoke. "I want to move into my own apartment."

It was the last thing anyone expected, but, to almost everyone's credit, they didn't gasp in horror. Hibiscus, however, let out a bark of laughter, which she tried to cover up by placing a hand over her lips. "Your own apartment, Grubby? Why would you want _that_?"

"Because I don't want my child to be around someone who wants them _dead_." Grub almost shouted, but he couldn't bring himself to truly yell. He was a quiet elf, and even this was a lot of emotion for him to be letting out at one time. Especially when it was against his mother.

Across the table, Trouble began to grin. He nodded in approval, fist lightly pounding on the table. "I think that is a wonderful idea. It's about time you grew up."

"_You_ may think it's a wonderful idea," Hibiscus glared at her eldest, "but I think it is _utterly_ ridiculous. Grub, how are you going to afford an apartment on a corporal's salary? You can barely afford what you pay _me_ every month."

"That's not true," Grub said, wishing he could pull out his tablet and bring up his finances for a more concrete argument. "I've been able to put aside some money every month, so I can pay a few month's rent without problems. Plus, I'm going to be taking the captain's exam soon, so I can afford a nice place with no problems, once I pass."

"Once you pass," Hibiscus pointed out, zeroing in on the most flimsy part of Grub's argument. She was getting back in control of the conversation, and that allowed her to think a bit more clearly. "In the meantime, even if you have a _passable_ savings account, you wont be approved at any _good_ facility when they see your current salary. You'll only qualify for a little hole in a _slum_, and then you'll be stuck there with at least a year's lease, toting around some _child _while surrounded by all of the thieves and ex-cons."

Grub was going to protest, but she was right. No apartment manager would let him in on the assumption that he would pass his captain's exam and be able to pay rent in the future. "I...I have time to look. I'll take a few days off work and find the right place. I could even get a room mate for a few months. There has to be somewhere—"

"There _isn't_ somewhere that will have everything you need, darling; and do you really know anyone who would room with you, even temporarily? I'm sorry dear, but it's a harsh truth." Hibiscus tutted, as if she was also disappointed in the financial prejudices of real estate and choosy room mates. "Just think of this logically: _where_ are you going to _live_?"

Grub looked at his untouched cake, thinking. Sparks Street, a loft of the Boulevard of the Kings, a closet in Amythest District...none of it would work. The only corporal he had ever heard of who kept their own apartment had been a younger Holly Short, and she had been living off her inheritance. He only had a few bars of gold in the bank, and that would get mostly eaten up by the deposit. He couldn't think of anywhere to go! Gritting his teeth, Grub closed his eyes and hung his head in defeat.

"He could stay with me."

Grub's head shot up again, but he couldn't breath.

Trouble seemed similarly astonished, not sure the words were correct.

Hibiscus was quickly losing her patience, drifting back towards rage.

Vinyáya seemed momentarily astonished, then smoothed out her napkin on her lap, trying to act casual. "I have my own place on the edge of Principality Hill. Not on the Hill, mind, but close to it. It's nearly paid off, and I've had no issues so far making the mortgage, but I imagine I'll be facing some higher expenses for the next few months, setting things up around the house. A little contribution towards the mortgage would be a huge help." She looked around in the silence, waiting for someone to give an intelligent response. In particular, she decided it was best to focus on Grub, as he was really the only one would could approve of this idea.

Grub just stared at her. He didn't appear to be breathing, still.

Vinyáya coughed, then decided to just move on. "Keep in mind, this is _only_ until you get your promotion, and you _will_ be paying me rent. You are a border, not a housemate."

Grub was turning a slightly blue shade.

"And if you tell _anyone_ on the force that you are boarding with me, I will have you out on the street before the end of the hour. Do I make myself clear, Corporal?"

Grub nodded, then swayed.

Trouble leaned far across the table and steadied his brother. "Breath, Grub."

With a huge gasp, Grub complied. He placed a hand on the table to stabilize himself as he got his air back. "Th-thank you, Wing Commander. It would be...a _huge_ help."

"I'm sure it would," Vinyáya said, not able to keep back a small smirk at the two brother's continued astonishment and Hibiscus's rising ire.

The Kelp brother's mother was getting some control back, having narrowly managed to avoid going into a rage, but she was no less irritated by this entire exchange than she had been when it began. Her youngest...not only moving out, but moving _in_ with this..._woman_. She ran a hand over her face, and her irritation was immediately replaced by a bright smile, as if she had just switched masks with that movement. "Grubby, my darling, think about what you're getting into. Does this woman even _like_ you?"

"No, Mommy" Grub muttered, eyes flicking to Vinyáya, then away. "That doesn't mean we can't share a house for a few months, until I can get myself on my feet."

"But, Grubby, can you imagine what it would be like to share a place with someone so overtly hostile to you?"

Very slowly, Grub stood and picked up his plate. He looked to Vinyáya and nodded at her full plate, silently asking if she was also done. She seemed as put off her food as him, pushing the cake towards him, allowing him to take it. He left the other two plates for his return trip and made his way around the table to move towards the kitchen.

"Grubby!" Hibiscus called after, voice going up a half-octave at his unexpected silence. "You didn't _answer_ me."

Grub paused in the doorway, then turned to face the table. "Yes, Momm..._Mother._ I can imagine staying with the Wing Commander will be difficult. But I would rather live with someone hostile towards _me_ than hostile towards _my baby_."

"Grubby—"

"My name is _Grub_, Mother!" Grub shouted bringing silence to the apartment. He turned away, moving into the kitchen. "You're the one who named me. Shouldn't you know that by now?"

Hibiscus sat at the table, making little choking noises, which slightly increased in volume as Grub came back and took away her plate, but did not result in any actual words. When she did manage to come back with a weak argument, Grub refused to answer, remaining in the kitchen to clean the dishes and package up the rest of the food. She continued trying until he handed her a plastic container full of pasta and silently led her to the front door, giving her a short nod before pushing her—as gently as possible—outside and closing the door after her.

This done, Grub stood in the entryway, breathing deeply, then turned and rested his back against the door, slamming his head against the thick wood. Despite all of the tension he had been containing for the last few minutes, he was smiling, hair resting over his closed eyes. "That went about as well as could be expected."

Still at the table, Trouble grinned, nodding in agreement. "Mother is going to be pissed at you for _ages_."

"Yeah..." Grub rubbed the back of his neck. "About that...mind getting her out of the house after work tomorrow, so I can get in and take my stuff? I'd rather no deal with all that again." At his brother's agreement, he sighed in relief, then looked to Vinyáya. "I...can move in tomorrow, right?"

Vinyáya waved a hand at this, momentarily causing Grub's heart to sink, then spoke. "Yes, certainly. Just have everything you need. I don't exactly have spare towels or an extra toothbrush lying around."

"Thank you, Wing Commander."

The woman picked up her water glass, swirling the inch of liquid left at the bottom around. She licked her lips, then took a small drink, trying to act nonchalant. "That is going to be intolerably awkward."

Grub wilted. "Living together?"

"Oh, besides that." Vinyáya frowned. "'Wing Commander.' I would feel like I was at work all the time. So...at my house...just call me 'Vinyáya.' Acceptable?"

Grub looked at his brother, who raised his eyebrows, then looked back to his new roommate. "I...yes. Thank you. Would you call me 'Grub,' then?"

"No." At his beginning sulk, she went on, rolling her eyes. "'Kelp.' It seems only logical."

Grub jerked his head at his brother. "Then what would you call him?"

"'Trouble,' of course."

Grub opened his mouth to protest.

"Get over it," Vinyáya said, leaving the dining room and claiming her motorcycle jacket from the hall closet. She flipped it around her back, shrugging into both arms at the same time, and approached the door. When Grub didn't move, she rolled her eyes. "Don't think about this too much, Kelp." She paused a bit, letting the word settle in her mouth, then shrugged. "I really just did it to piss your mother off. I hate women like that."

For the briefest of moments, Grub considered defending Hibiscus. Or pointing out the hypocrisy of Vinyáya disapproving of her behavior. Instead, he nodded, embarrassed that he had thought to come to his mother's rescue after everything.

"Kelp...." Vinyáya began, trailing off as she crossed her arms and began tapping her foot.

"I-I'm sorry, it's just—"

"The _door_, Kelp."

The youngest elf stared at her for a moment, then realized what she was talking about. "Sorry!" He opened the door for the woman, resisting the urge to lead her out with a hand to the small of her back. Before she disappeared into the corridors, he burst out with "Vinyaya!" When she paused, he felt himself faltering. "I...t-thank you." He ran a hand up the back of his head, fingers mussing up his hair. "I can't even say how grateful I am. You've...you really saved my ass, there."

Vinyáya tossed her helmet between her hands and shot a smirk over her shoulder. "You cook like that," she pointed at the kitchen to indicate the dinner, "while you live with me, and we'll call it even."

Grub gave her the biggest smile she had ever seen on the inexperienced elf, and she had seen him in the middle of some _rather _good moods in his private office. "It's a deal."

Vinyáya gave the two Kelps a casual salute and popped her helmet on, walking off down the corridor.

* * *

**Preview: Don't you see what this takes of me?/ A certain callousness complies/ with your charm & in your pride,/ a hopeful look draped in despise.**


	8. You Seem to Push Me

**Sorry for the late update. I've been sick. Which also means the podfic is delayed, while my voice gets back to normal. And this chapter needed some _serious_ revamping, so...yeah. On the plus, the next eight chapters are done, and three more will get me to my next run of chapters, which is also eight. So...looking good.  
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**Also, I realized that the addition of songs to my profile was making it _way_ long, so I'm just including them at the beginning of each chapter, from now on. I'll fix the previous chapters in a minute or two.  
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Song: "Ender Will Save Us All" by Dashboard Confessionals**

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**Chapter 8: You Seem to Push Me  
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**Week 6-Part 2**

Grub had one advantage over the other officers's studying for the exam: he hadn't yet used up his allotted study hours. Officers weren't expected to do all of their preparation on their own time, and the LEP allowed for a few hours a week to ready for any promotion exam. As most officers took years to prepare, this meant that Grub could study for nearly his entire workday at the LEP, but he would still have to work past his standard shift in order to cover everything. Grub was not fond of being at work once his shift was over, but it was really his only option. So, early the next evening, he literally rolled off his brother's couch (being unwilling to return home and face his mother again), pulled on his office uniform, and staggered the mile or so the Police Plaza, where he took over a cubicle at the firing range for a few hours before the rest of the shift arrived.

He only halted when Captain Lili Frond came in, noticed him, and seemed to go into a computational breakdown at the sight. "Corporal...Kelp?"

Grub groaned, having been startled by her words, resulting in a wild miss. He slammed his head into the side of the cubicle. The training program he had actually managed to get thirty seconds into shut down at the miss, informing him that ha had failed. He was _sure_ he'd been improving! "Yes, Lieutenant," he snapped, not at all willing to control his tone after so long shooting things. He hadn't held a gun in...gods, he couldn't remember. He hadn't bothered to keep up his skills since being placed behind a desk. It showed.

Without bothering to pick up a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, she walked over. Leaning over his shoulder, she looked at his scores, pushing a strand of hair behind her ears to keep it out of her eyes. "You're...shooting."

Well...people were going to find things out soon enough, what with him almost completely dropping off the paperwork scene for three months. "I'm studying for the captain's exam."

Lili stared at him. "Seriously?"

Grub squeezed the bridge of his nose and breathed in deeply, then nodded. "Yes, Lieutenant. I have been a corporal for the last _twenty_ years. It's high time I went for a promotion."

"Huh," Frond said noncommittally, tapping through the results. She raised her eyebrows as she noted how long he had been working. "You...this is a _lot_ of time in the firing range."

"Well, the exam is in three months."

Lili raised a well-shaped eyebrow. "Kelp...you _do_ know it takes years to prepare for this, right?"

Grub clenched his jaw, bringing up another simulation. "I am fully aware of that, Lieutenant, but I need to pass the _next_ exam."

"That's..._insanity_." When the man didn't agree, merely beginning to fire at the holograms, quickly missing three easy targets in a row, causing the simulation to end and dragging out an impressive string of curses from the corporal, she snatched the gun from his hands. "And _especially_ insane the way you're doing it!"

Grub turned on her, reaching for the gun, but she held it behind her back and leaned against the cubicle wall to keep him from reaching around and taking it away. "I will do this _my_ way, Lieutenant."

"No," Lili said, poking him in the forehead and pushing him back. "You will not. Not if you plan on passing, anyway."

"Oh, really. And what makes you say _that_?"

Smirking, Lili tapped her new acorns, which she had only earned herself in the most recent lieutenant's exam. They hadn't even managed to be marred by any dents or nicks, yet. "Just listen to me, will you? Despite what _everyone_ says about my position in the LEP, I had to work for this promotion, just like _everyone_ else."

Grub had to admit, this was a very compelling argument. Most officers were encouraged to pursue a promotion by a captain or major who oversaw their duties, the same higher officer mentoring them through their studies. Of course, most officers also didn't skip the lieutenant position, so that was just another one of the many things working against him.

Despite his agreement, Grub did not admit it to Lili. Instead, he tapped his control panel until the last routine was brought up again. "Sure. But that was to _lieutenant_, not _captain_. This is completely different." He held out his hand for the gun, which she finally, reluctantly, gave back.

"Not by much." Before he could get more than three targets into the practice round, Lili reached up, pushing on the barrel of his gun with a thin, finely manicured finger, ruining his aim and bring an end to the round. "Kelp, stop it. You're going about this _all_ wrong."

Grub let himself slouch deeply, slamming into the side of his small cubicle. "_Apparently._ I suppose I should be coming in even _earlier_, so I can get work done without interference?"

"Nooooooo," Lili countered, her tone going through multiple sarcastic notes on that one word. "Ever heard the phrase 'work smarter, not harder'?"

"Can't say I have," Grub admitted, trying to look neutral even as his interest was piqued. "But, please, Lieutenant, tell me, how do I work _smarter_?"

Lili didn't even bother to be diplomatic and restrain her glare. After all, he certainly wasn't holding back his disdain, and she got enough of the from...well, just about _everyone_ on the force, really. "It _means_ that you find every corner you can cut and every advantage you could possible have...and you take them."

"So cheat, you're saying?" He slammed his head into the wall again. That was _not_ the way to prove himself.

Grunting, disgusted, Lili threw a hand in the air, voice going slightly shrill. "If you're going to be like this, then forget it." She spun, long hair flying out behind her as she made for the door, her own practice session at the range forgotten.

Grub, to his credit, immediately realized that he had made a huge mistake. Taking one large step forward, he reached out to the female elf. "Wait! I didn't mean it like that!" He grasped at the air and almost cheered when he managed to make contact with something.

Lili froze, hair slowly drifting to rest on her back. As if expecting something completely different to be there—such as a fire-breathing dragon or a rotting ferret—she looked down at her hand, which was being held tightly by Grub's.

Grub followed her gaze and immediately blushed, removing his hand and holding it behind his back. "I...I mean...any help you could give would be...wonderful." He half-smiled, waiting for a beating.

Against her good breeding (which was telling her to leave the middle-class corporal to flounder on his own) and better judgement, Lili thought about the situation. "You'll be doing _this_ instead of work, wont you?"

He nodded, trying to avoid looking ashamed. There would be a fair amount of chaos when the LEP at large realized that this was the case. They could easily survive for three months without him, but the other office workers would not be pleased with him. He was already anticipating many dirty looks. "I have to. I don't have the time to do anything else."

"No...." She held her hand in front of her, fingers jerking as she counted out something. "You have time for whatever Holly or I send you."

He tried to choke out a response, but was halted by a hand thrust to within a centimeter of his nose.

"Because I'll ask Holly about her exam and what she knows about the one coming up, and tell you where to focus." She took her hand back, crossing both arms in front of her chest. "And I'll coach you a bit, too. If you're not a complete _ass_ to me, like you are to _everyone else_."

He flinched. _I don't deserve that...right? _"I just have to do your paperwork? That's it?"

"_And_ be civil."

_Civil. Oh, how the stinkworm turns._ "I...okay." He nodded, ending by looking at the floor between their feet. "...thanks...Frond."

"Just make sure Holly gets her stuff back in a timely manner. You don't want to _know_ how irritable she was about Artemis almost missing the shuttle." She shuddered at the memory. "Now, shoo!" She flipped her hands towards the door, urging him out. "You're useless here. Go."

Obediently, Grub surrendered his gun to the attendant and went to the door. Just before he was lost down the hall, Grub paused, glancing over his shoulder at Lieutenant Frond.

She was in the middle of claiming her gun, but wasn't paying attention to the attendant. Instead, she was looking at the exit. When Grub and she locked gazes, she gave a little start, whipping her head about and nodding vigorously at the irritated gnome.

Grub blinked, furrowing his brows and looking at the ground, as if this would bring him the much-needed answers. Shrugging, Grub walked off down the halls, glad for a chance to rest his already arching trigger finger and weary wrists. They needed to make those guns more ergonomic. He would have to talk to Foaly about that....

* * *

"My, my, my," Artemis muttered, looking over Holly's shoulder as they sat opposite each other at the cafeteria tables. "Now that _is_ something I didn't expect. Kudos to him."

Holly, mouth full of tuna casserole and the fork that had brought it there, turned to look at whatever had caught Artemis's normally very undeterrable attention. She jerked her head back at the sight, returning focus to her lover with the food and utensil still in place, speaking around them. "So that's why she was asking about the exam..._no. _Can't be. One of them must be drunk. I'm just not sure who."

A few tables away, Grub Kelp and Lili Frond sat side by side, looking through a pair of data tablets, flipping documents from one to the other and drawing connections between documents. Lili seemed to be—oddly enough, for her—giving him a lecture, which Grub was very interested in. Their lunches appeared to be long forgotten, resting to the side of their small shared table. Their heads were very close together as they looked through the small screens.

Artemis shook his head, digging through his own portion of food, picking out a chunk of fish. "I really doubt it. Drunk people do not study for LEP exams together. They tend to do things that are a lot more fun and require a lot less mental coordination...if a bit more physical coordination."

Holly nodded, finally swallowing her food. "Maybe...but if alcohol makes people act different and Lili is a bit trampy to begin with, perhaps it just makes her act like a scholar?"

Artemis waved his finger in Holly's face, scowling, but half-amused despite himself. "You really shouldn't speak about your own secretary like that, love."

"She went on a date with _Chix_, Artemis. _Chix_."

Artemis nodded, still curious as to how Chix had managed that. Apparently, things hadn't progressed much. Chix still hung about the LEP on his days off the surface and in Haven, but Lili was determined to avoid him. Artemis suspected Chix didn't understand that "hard to get" could be just a myth, and that Lili didn't have the heart to remove his testicles in order to free herself from his romantic advances. She would have to get over that. "You really shouldn't judge her by her romantic failures. You didn't have the greatest luck before, if I recall."

"Artemis," Holly said, sniffing, trying to be as dignified as possible, "just because I never had a long-term boyfriend outside Kudzu does not mean I _failed_."

"Then what is your definition of success?" Artemis said, truly agreeing with her, but not willing to let it all go at once. It was best to keep Holly on her toes. It made her much feistier, overall, and that was useful both for her field work and more interesting non-work activities. "At least Lili has left a better impression on most of her partners."

"Better or deeper?"

"I'm not talking about boot-prints, love."

"Regardless, that is just _weird_." Holly shook her head, then caught sight of Vinyáya walking though the cafeteria line. She whistled as the Wing Commander finished purchasing, calling her over to join their meal. "Hey, what do you think of that? Bizarre, no?" She jerked her thumb in the direction of the huddled pair.

Vinyáya began to put down her tray, glancing over. She jolted in surprised, dropping the tray the last few inches to the table, spilling water over her entree. She cursed, tipping the plate to drain it.

Grub looked up at the commotion and locked eyes with the Wing Commander. He tilted his head a bit, then shrugged and looked back to the tablet.

Vinyáya stared a little longer, then took her seat. "Very strange. I never thought the boy had it in him to go for Frond."

Artemis watched her closely, then took a big bite of his lunch. "It's always the quiet ones."

Holly nodded in agreement, eyeing her partner. "They would be the most dangerous."

He smiled happily at the sideways compliment. "Still, you really can't expect him to turn down a chance like that, if it means remaining celibate for the rest of his life."

There was an awkward silence as the entire table considered the youngest Kelp's supposed celibacy.

Vinyáya glanced over to the studiers, then back to her food, mixing together the various items. "I suppose you can't."

* * *

Several hours later, Grub Kelp was back in his office, following the study strategy Lili had laid out for him. She may not have been the smartest woman in the LEP, but she seemed to be a master of strategic planning. She claimed it was the result of arranging countless society events for the Frond family when she was fresh out of secondary education, but wherever she had developed the skills, they were phenomenal.

She had begun by showing him how the captain's exam was weighted, pointing out the emphasis on recitation of laws and accuracy in the shooting range. The had caused Grub much distress, given his poor performance, but Lili had then brought up the shooting range schedule, highlighting all of the blocks where the more sociable shooters—Commander Kelp, Captain Bodart, and so on—were known to practice. She then copied those blocks into Grub's schedule, instructing him to ask them for tips whenever he was on the range.

After that, she showed him a few memorization strategies, explaining that "you probably wont know a word of what your saying _means_, but you'll be able to recite it, and that's all they really want." Grub didn't think this was the most effective use of his time, given that it meant his skills would be practically useless, but Lili had just stared at him for a moment and asked when, _precisely_, he intended to recite the labor laws that were broken by a manufacturing company during construction of a new plant. Grub had reluctantly agreed.

The rest of Grub's schedule was filled in with the less-important aspects of the test (plus a small amount of time for _actual_ work) and Lili handed his tablet back over, looking pretty much smug as hell at her skills. "Follow that, and you should be able to pass."

Grub had looked at the 14-hour days and nodded. Two hours of free time. Not bad, he supposed, though he was disappointed at the extra six hours he would need to spend outside of his shift. "I wonder if I could get these extra hours on my schedule as overtime...I mean, it seems only fair, right?" He looked to Frond, nodding already, thinking of how to broach the subject with his brother.

Lieutenant Frond laughed and rolled her eyes. "Good luck on that, Kelp. I'm sure your brother will just _jump_ at the idea of you cutting into his budget like that."

Grub had scowled and gone to ask Commander Kelp about extending his hours...and was laughed out of the commander's office.

So, Grub had gone back to his own office and settled down for a one-hour memorization session, which was—predictably, all of the past events considered—broken up by the sound of a knock on his door. "Come _in_."

After a pause, as if the person on the other side was considering how wise it was to actually enter, the door creaked open and Artemis Fowl came in holding a large box. He kicked the door closed behind him, crossed the room, and set his burden down on the desk, panting a little. He wasn't as weak as he'd been on joining the citizens of haven nine years ago, but that box was _heavy._

Grub stared at it. Surely Foaly didn't need _that much_ equipment processed? "I'm sorry, Fowl, but all of my hours are devoted to studying for the next few months. Corporal Teak should be—"

"It's not paperwork, Kelp. Foaly already knows you're off limits for a while." Artemis slid the box across the desk until it crowded the officer's tablet to the side. "I told my mother about your situation and...well...she thought you'd appreciate these." He raised his hands in the air, silently asking, _Women? What can you do?_

Grub blinked at the box. "Huh...study books. Great." As if he didn't have enough strategies to work with, thanks to Frond. And what good would _Mud Man_ books be? It's not like they had the same laws. He flipped open the top of the box.

Staring back at him, the woman on the cover painted fairly well, but at that point where the "uncanny valley" took over, making the image unnerving to begin with (amplified by the fact that it was a Mud Woman holding a very round belly) was a book that practically screamed "What to Expect When You're Expecting." Mostly because that was the title.

Grub whimpered, pushing the book to the side, hoping it was just a title that Mrs. Fowl had included for her son (he'd heard she was bugging him about grand-kids, right?) and the study books were below. Instead, he came across pregnancy books and child care books and everything to deal with children. There was even a joke "newborn stress kit," including a few painkillers, a sleep mask, and earplugs. "I...how did you...?"

Artemis snorted. "Kelp. Really." He thrust a thumb at his chest. The meaning was clear, even if he didn't say the words: "I'm Artemis Fowl."

Grub took a deep breath. "Right. Got it. Just...okay, what do you want?"

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Whatever do you mean?" His voice was soft, almost girlish, and entirely full of fake confusion.

"Do you want me to continue processing the Ops Booth's paperwork while I'm studying, or is there something more manipulative waiting for me?" Grub rested his chin on the edge of the box, breathing in the musty smell of old books. It was somewhat comforting, at least, and he needed a lot of comfort for whatever was coming at him from Fowl.

Rather than hitting him with a huge workload, Artemis began to chuckle. "Oh, so nice to know what you think of me." He shook his head. "Look, Kelp...I don't expect anything from you. No blackmail, except...."

Grub steeled himself. He could actually feel the little gold he had in his bank account draining away.

"Don't screw up."

Grub's eyes shot wide. "'Don't'...where is Fowl, and what have you _done_ with him?"

"Oh, so cliché," Artemis chided. "Look, this is not all altruistic. If you are a horrible father, Vinyáya will complain to Holly. And then Holly will complain to me. And then I will have to listen to her. I get enough of that with her job in general, and I really would rather I didn't spend another hour a day hearing about your latest parental failure. An hour with Holly that I could be putting to _much_ better use. So...." He pushed the box forward again. "Get reading—and I will _know_ if you aren't—and I wont tell the entire LEP that you've been screwing with Vinyáya for the past ten years, and that she's expecting your precious intestinal parasite. Okay?"

Grub picked up the first book and began to leaf through. He sighed. "Well...there go my last two free hours."

Artemis snorted and placed what he did sincerely hope was a comforting hand on Grub's shoulder. "Kelp...free time? Really? You lost that at conception. You just didn't realize it."

* * *

Not long after his shift at work ended, Grub Kelp, carried by a rather expensive and smelly taxi, arrived in front of Wing Commander Vinyáya's house and was duly floored.

Hibiscus had got off from the divorce rather well, with a house already paid off among her assets, and Grub had never had to face financial hardship there. This, though...this wasn't "close" to Principality Hill. It was practically on it!

Vinyáya's house stood at the very bottom of the upper-class incline, on a long street that bordered the main gates. It looked rather small, compared to the mini-mansions surrounding it, and it was the only one with just a ground floor, leading Grub to believe that it must be a rather old structure that was never torn down when this area of Haven was built up. However, it was well-tended, with no chips or wearing on the blue paint, a nice—if small—garden, and double front doors with stained glass windows.

Grub looked up at it and swallowed. Despite its clean and friendly air, he was not looking forward to approaching that door. This was dangerous. This was...forbidden, even if Vinyáya herself had invited him. He glanced up and down the street—as if expecting someone from the LEP to be watching him, or, even worse, the paparazzi—and approached, struggling with the large box and loaded messenger bag that made his steps wide and clumsy. Once he reached the door, he had to peer around either side of the box to find the doorbell, which he rang with his elbow.

There was tapping from the other side of the door that made Grub cock his head, angling his ear at the noise. Where had he heard that before...he really should take that sound recognition course his brother kept pushing on him.

Then the door opened.

Grub was again floored.

Vinyáya stood in the door, resplendent in a skin-tight blue-sequin dress, her long silver hair put up in a loose bun, with short, curled strands escaping to frame her face. She smiled at Grub, then waved him in. "Hurry!"

Grub obeyed, gaze dropping immediately to Vinyáya's well-defined rear as she turned and walked off. Which proved to be a bad move (if entirely worth it) when he slammed box-first into a wall before getting himself back together and entering a hallway.

"I hope you don't plan on bringing a mattress, because I really don't know where you'll put it. The garage is barely big enough for my bike, so that's right out."

Grub shook his head, then remembered that she couldn't see him. It was very hard to think, at the moment. He wouldn't need his mattress? "I was going to have to buy one, but I guess that can wait until I get my own place."

"Perfect!" Vinyáya opened a side door and turned on the light inside. She took another few steps down the hall, waving grandly at the room.

Grub entered, let his box drop to the floor, and looked around.

"Oh," he said, barely managing to sound neutral. There was only a twin bed. "I...." He wasn't sure what to say. _Very_ close quarters....

"I'm at the end of the hall, but I tend to spend most of my free time in the office, which is the next door down. The other guest room is across the way, and the laundry is next to it."

"Oh," he said again, nodding. "Right. Down the hall. Got it." Guest bedroom. Of course. He had expected as much, until she came to the door in...that _dress_. Did sequin dresses get sold in a pourable form? There no other way to explain how well it fit. He was almost certain he could see her abs through the material.

"Is someone waiting outside to help you with the rest of your boxes?" Vinyáya peered back towards the entrance, her smile fading, high-heeled shoe tapping.

"No," Grub said, avoiding her gaze. "This is it."

She looked at the box and, while it was large, she could not imagine that this could _really_ be it. "I didn't think you were so...spartan." She played with one of the longer loose strands of her hair, curling it around her finger and letting it pop off the end before catching it again and repeating the process.

"Not...really." Grub admitted. It was best to just get this out there, or else she would merely start to question him. "I only managed to get this packed before my mother arrived and told me to leave. She threatened to call the LEP if I didn't."

Vinyáya stared, stopping her hair play. "But...you were just taking your things, right?"

He nodded, trying to not be offended by the question. It was the kind of thing an LEP officer called to the scene should ask. "Right."

"But...they're _your_ things."

"Yes," he agreed, suddenly feeling the familiar sense of indignation rising within had only just managed to put that aside for a few minutes when the taxi finished its trip. "But it's _her_ house. If she asked me to leave and I didn't, it would be trespassing, even if I was there for my things."

Vinyáya paused, obviously going through her mental law book, and nodded. "True. Been studying?"

"A bit," Grub understated, wanting to reach up and rub his sore eyes. He wondered if they were bloodshot from staring at screens all day.

"Ah. Well." Vinyáya frowned, searching for something to say. She coughed into her hand, then swept it down the hall. "Well...grand tour?"

Grub kicked his box further into the room and nodded. "Sure. Good idea."

The grand tour was rather short. While most homeowners will go into detail about every renovation they had taken to improve a home, Vinyáya just marched through the rooms and back yard, pointing out the important elements: recycling lounge, toilet pond, kitchen, living room, dining nook, and entryway.

It didn't take long for Grub to come to one very important conclusion: Wing Commander Vinyáya was not a home maker. He hadn't really expected her to be, but...well, he could feel his skin crawl at the surroundings. The house wasn't _unsanitary_, but the mess threw him off entirely. Clean dishes had been piled on the counter next to the dish washer, rather than put back in the cabinets. There was an enormous pile of laundry next to the washers, and he suspected that he would find a similar pile of clean clothing in Vinyáya's room. The living room was taken over by open movie cases, video games (Vinyáya was, apparently, a huge fan of the zombie survival genre), and quite a few stray socks. The dining room table was completely take over with letters, bills, and what appeared to be a quarter of an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, the rest of the pieces nowhere in sight.

Grub swallowed. "Er...nice place."

Vinyáya did not notice the strain in his tone, too busy looking towards the entryway. "Yeah, got it for a song. I'll buy groceries if you cook. Just leave me a list of ingredients you'll need and—"

_Dingdingding!_

Vinyáya's smile was back as she jumped towards the door. She paused at the entryway, looking back at Grub. "Don't worry about leaving the light on. I've no idea how long I'll be out."

Grub blinked. "...huh?"

Without giving an explanation, Vinyáya opened the door halfway, extending a delicately-boned hand. "Councilman Lope."

Grub didn't angle his head to look, instead retreating further out of sight. He didn't need to look. He knew what he would see. An older male elf with a dusting of grey at his temples and a set of shockingly green eyes that made his auburn hair pop into focus. And, if Vinyáya was anything to judge by, he would likely be wearing a suit even Fowl would approve of.

"Now, now, Arnica. Do we really have to talk to each other like we do at the Council? It may be the first date, but it's still a _date_."

"I suppose you're right, Aconite," she began, laughter in her words. The rest were lost as she clicked the door closed behind her.

Grub stared at the wall for a long while. A date. With Councilman Lope.

With a long inward breath, Grub Kelp collected himself. Things could not continue this way. It was time to do something about it.

* * *

**Preview: There must be a million fish out in that ocean,/ so you must find the one thats right for you somehow./ Well its up to you I'm here for years/ or till the night time disappears./ I'm Mr. Right or....**


	9. Mr Right or Mr Right Now

**Song: "Mr. Right" by Garth Brooks**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now**

**Week 6-Part 3**

It was the best outing Vinyáya had been treated to in a long time.

Lope was a moderate on the Council, negotiating with the conservative Cahartez and liberal Vinyáya, and generally bringing the entire thing together as Council Leader. He was an older fairy—even compared to her—but he had lived a relatively good life, working entirely in politics, rather than the more dangerous LEP. He began as a representative for East Haven, a position that technically held no power, as the Council made all decisions for the small metropolis, but soon proved adept at swaying popular opinion about the Council's actions. Lope held the record for youngest fairy ever admitted to the Council, as the Haven leaders had quickly realized that having him among their ranks would make leading the city generally easier.

He wasn't universally loved, of course. No politician is. Things had changed with the arrival of the demons, who disapproved of the Council in general, favoring their own tribal leadership. There were calls for the elder statesman to step down—with subsequent calls for Qwan to step up in his place—but nothing was happening, so far.

Rather than talking politics, however, Lope seemed to be putting his every wooing tactic to very effective use. And he had plenty of them. He had never married, but there was not a successful female fairy over 300 (and quite a few under) who hadn't been seen on his arm at one time or another, and all sung his praises.

As with almost all dates, the night began with dinner. Vinyáya knew Reynard's by reputation, but she had never ventured into the place before, preferring a good three-item of Chinese over Italian, but she was pulled in by the soft (both in color and touch) decor, lilting music, and enticing scents. With her shining hair and dress, she felt she must stand out in the dim restaurant, but perhaps that was a good thing. It meant she would be the obvious focus of Lope's attentions, and what more could a girl ask for an a date?

"Tell me, Arnica," Aconite Lope said as their salads were taken away, pulling his chair closer to the table so he could lean over for a quieter bit of conversation. "I've been asking if you would join me for dinner about once a month for _years_, and you always refused. Why did you suddenly call_ me_ up and ask if I was free?"

Vinyáya twirled her glass—water, of course, and thank the _gods_ he wasn't asking about that—and shrugged. "Call it...'taking advantage of new opportunities.'"

Aconite studied her, pursing his lips. "That is...an excuse I certainly have not heard before."

"And it is all," Vinyáya said, taking a quick sip of water, "that you are going to get, I'm afraid. Let's say I didn't think it was fair to you for us to try a relationship before."

"For the last five years?" Aconite leaned in, voice low so the other customers wouldn't be able to pick up his question, and placed a hand over Vinyáya's. "Have you quit Section 8 or somesuch nonesense? Arnica, we _need_ you there."

"No, no," Vinyáya waved off his conclusion, fully aware that a small pink tinge would be coming to her cheeks. Let it come. In fact, she tried to encourage it by breathing more shallowly than normal. "Just...I was...a bit too busy."

"And your schedule has suddenly cleared up?"

"...for the moment. Yes."

Dinner segued easily into dancing, with Reynard's hosting a live jazz and swing band (in only slight defiance of the Italian theme) for the night. Like many elves, Lope had a great love of music and had taken a goodly number of lessons. It was his attitude more than his moves that struck Vinyáya, however. They occasionally parted in spins and swing-outs, but he almost always held her close to his, preferring closed positions with an arm tight about her waist over the more flamboyant spinning of the youngsters that filled most of the floor. It was more than the closeness, however. His entire attention was on Vinyáya, the focus burning through her body in a way she hadn't felt since she was a young elf in the middle of the academy.

The only time he took his attention away from Vinyáya was when the floor was cleared and the band began to explain the rules of a dance competition. He nodded at each point, then looked to Vinyáya, who was not focusing on the announcement, but was instead looking wide-eyed at the front doors, which had just slammed open. She wasn't breathing.

He wrapped his arm even more tightly about her waist, pulling her to his trim chest. "Expecting someone?"

Vinyáya snapped her head to him far too quickly to be strictly casual. "Oh. No. Of course not." She looked back at the door from just the corner of her eyes, biting her lower lip.

Lope wasn't fooled so easily. He grinned, resting his forehead against hers. "Let me guess...."

Vinyáya prepared herself for the worst.

"Major Holly Short is going to burst in here any moment and spout off some flagrant lie about the LEP needing you somewhere, just like you asked her to earlier today, in case things went badly?"

"Oh!" Vinyáya shook her head. "No. Not at all."

"Then...a knight in shining armor, perhaps, here to rescue you from the old dragon of a Councilman who lured you away for the night?" For a second, the hand at her waist turned clawed, pressing into her skin, but Vinyáya's gasp was not one of pain. He chuckled at her reaction, letting go immediately and letting his hand curve naturally, cupping her waist.

"No!" Despite herself, Vinyáya's eyes flickered back to the door. Then she focused on Lope again, laughing quite convincingly. "I...no. _Really,_ not at all."

"Good," he whispered, twining their fingers and kissing the back of her hand. "Because I truly would hate to lose such a _stunning_ dance partner right before the competition. I might have to fight to keep you."

"No worries," Vinyáya said, voice just as soft as his as he led her onto the dance floor as the first entrants. "You have me."

"It is," he said, nuzzling at her ear, "a dream come true."

* * *

Grub buried his head in his hands. "This is a _nightmare_."

* * *

When they arrived back at her home, the cavern lights had been dimmed to encourage the People to sleep. It was difficult to keep a normal cycle when there was no sun or moon to guide you, so the entirety of Haven responded to the change in hours. Vinyáya knew she was going to regret staying out this late when her alarm went off, but she didn't really care. They didn't win the competition, but the focus of the entire crowd had filled her with a rush of adrenalin that stayed with her for the entire event. It was akin to being on a dangerous Section 8 mission, and she certainly wasn't in that position purely for the paycheck and duty to the People. She was intrinsically an adrenaline junkie, and it didn't matter where she got her fix.

When Councilman Lope finally pulled up in front of her house and parked, coming around to open her door and give him his hand as she stepped out, she suddenly felt like an adolescent being dropped off after a hot date. She clutched at her handbag, looking down, embarrassed despite her years. He was still an older man, even if she was a mature woman, and he was amazingly good at what he did. "Thank you, Aconite. It was...lovely."

Reaching out, he tucked a long strand of silver hair behind an ear, not altogether _too_ careful of the tender piece of flesh. He smirked at his fellow council member's shiver, fully aware that the cavern wasn't that cold, then moved his hand down to trace her cheek. "Well worth the wait. At least for me. I have to know, though...how long do I have to wait until the next date? Is this a once-in-a-decade event?"

"No," she smiled, leaning into his hand, eyes half lidded, and only partially from exhaustion. "I'm free after the meeting on Wednesday. Just...not so late." She felt like her voice must carry down this empty street and alert her neighbors (she never got along with the mini-mansioners very well) to this altogether sensational meeting of political minds. Still, logically she knew it was so low that the words would just barely drift between them, and the lights on the street were so far interspersed that no one would be able to pick them out as two members of the Council, unless they came equipped with night-vision goggles.

"Certainly. Anything." His hand descended just a few centimeters further until he placed his fingers under her chin, thumb rubbing on her lower lip. Slowly, he move in and gave her a soft, yet long kiss, lips barely parted, but still caressing her closely.

When they broke apart, Vinyáya hoped she wasn't panting. That would be so...unladylike. And obvious. "Thank you," she breathed.

He hummed a single laugh and kissed her again, this time shorter, to keep her from reacting too much. When they separated, he leaned against his car. "No. Thank _you_. For giving me a chance."

Vinyáya looked at the ground. "Yes...I...it was worth it."

"Wednesday?"

"Definitely."

Lope squeezed her hand and, before they could get started again, he turned the woman to face her house and gave her a small touch on the small of her back to urge her inside, remaining by the side of his car, thinking that approaching the door (and the private rooms beyond) was a bit too risky for a first date.

Vinyáya silently (if reluctantly) agreed and walked up the winding garden path, pausing at the entryway, her hand on the cool wood. She looked over her shoulder.

Lope was still leaning against his little green car, hands in his trouser pockets, watching her. He gave an embarrassed smile and waved at the door, waiting for her to be safely inside.

Vinyáya finally allowed herself a full blush, unlocking her door and stepping inside. She quickly closed the door behind her and leaned against it, sighing. Wondrous.... Despite the ache in her feet—which she tried to alleviate by kicking off her shoes—Vinyáya felt like she could walk on air. _I should have done that a _long_ time ago...._

Every lamp in the house was out, so Vinyáya had to flick on the hall light to get to her room.

The sight was enough to stop her cold. When she recovered, she began to move about, turning on a light in every room and staring inside. She held herself like a soldier on point, ready at any moment for an attack. This was unnerving. It was unknown. It was...

_Clean_. Dishes put away, laundry done and folded carefully into a few baskets she wasn't even aware she _owned_, and her movies and games not only all put into their proper case (she routinely spent fifteen minutes tracking a game down to the correct case, as they leap-frogged into whatever was empty at the time), but on the shelves _in alphabetical order_. And...she could smell..._food_.

She went back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. She did a double-take. What had formerly been a fridge stocked with items she was fairly certain were all past their expiration date was now a fridge half-full of tupperware and casserole dishes. _Wait...do I even _own_ tupperware?_

She closed the door and backed away, as if a demon from another dimension would pop out and possess her. This was....

She stepped softly down the hall, again on guard. The main guest bedroom— No. _Grub's temporary bedroom_ door was cracked, the light on inside. She paused, looking down the hall, as if someone was watching her, and pushed it open.

Grub was splayed on his back, data tablet whirring on his chest, mouth open and snoring. Only one of his legs was under the disheveled covers, the other hanging off the edge of the bed, and he hadn't even bothered to change out of his office clothes. Or perhaps he didn't even _have_ a change of clothes, given Hibiscus's interference. Either way, it allowed him some sense of decency that a bare chest and boxers would have destroyed.

Vinyáya couldn't help it. It was a small laugh, but it was enough.

Grub jerked, one hand flying up to rub his face. He smacked his lips, frowning at the taste in his mouth from having it open as he slept, and looked between his fingers. With speed that was commendable in someone so groggy, he sat up. "Oh. Vinyáya. You're back."

"I'm _assuming_ I am. I'm not entirely sure. Did my house get replaced while I was gone? It looks...different."

Grub yawned and flopped back onto the bed, rolling to his side and hugging the pillow to his chest. "Had to...clean.... A mess.... Everything but your room.... Assumed I wasn't...allowed in there."

Vinyáya stepped back, feeling like she had been slapped in the face. She was about to snap back that he was _absolutely_ right when she noticed that Grub had begun to snore again.

She watched him, brow furrowed. She had gone off for a night on the town and he had...cleaned her house. It was...the most..._illogical_ thing she could think of.

_What did you expect? For him to follow you to the restaurant and challenge Lope to a duel to protect your honor?_

No. That was ridiculous. It wasn't Grub. Grub was....

_You don't even __know _what_ Grub is. Besides good in bed. Or on a desk, actually._

Vinyáya clenched her fist. Great. Just what she needed. As if another life inside her wasn't enough, now she had a new inner voice emerging to torment her. Vinyáya shook her head, firmly throwing that voice off. With a last look at the elf cuddling her guest pillows, she shut off the light and closed his door, retreating to her own bedroom for the few hours of sleep she would enjoy before the harsh sound of her alarm came.

* * *

**Preview: It's always have and never hold,/ you've begun to feel like home./ What's mine is yours to leave or take,/ what's mine is yours to make your own.**


	10. I'll Look After You

**Song: "Look After You" by the Fray**

* * *

**Chapter 10: I'll Look After You**

**Week 6-Part 4**

Vinyáya. Seriously_. Hated_ her alarm clock.

What felt like only seconds after she lay down, the digital tormentor began to go off. She promptly picked it up and threw it across the room, insulting it's lineage (she was still half-asleep, but remembered saying something about it's father being a toaster and mother being a faulty surge protector) as it crashed into the wall. Unfortunately, the clock was a sturdy, battery-operated affair, and she didn't even manage to make it land on the snooze button. So, groaning with every small muscle movement, Vinyáya got out of bed and kicked the beeping monstrosity, managing to turn it off.

Despite her foul mood and lack of sleep, Vinyáya was at least responsible enough to remain out of bed. Less from personal responsibility, and more from the fact that her secretary knew where she lived and was not above coming to her home and ringing the doorbell until she got on her way to the office. Pulling on a blue satin robe and trying to drag a hand through her hair, failing utterly to get through the tangles, Vinyáya staggered down the hall and into the kitchen. Where she paused, confused, before pulling the robe even more tightly about her body.

Grub looked up at her from his data tablet. He was leaned against the counter, munching on a scone that Vinyáya was _sure_ had not been in her pantry and could thus only be home-made. He was already dressed in fairly nice slacks and a white t-shirt (his version of office attire), but he also seemed unprepared for the early sight of his temporary room mate. After taking a moment to shake his head rapidly, restarting his thoughts along a more tame track (Vinyáya made a mental note to get a more modest robe before she came home tonight, and possibly some pajamas), he nodded towards a small plate at the end of the counter, where another pastry waited. "Sleep well?" For it being so early in the morning, he was disturbingly cheery. He took another large bite, cheeks puffing out like a squirrel.

Vinyáya snarled at him. She did not talk this early in the morning. It was unnatural.

Grub, understandably, edged further down the counter. He swallowed heavily, pounding a fist to his chest to get the dough through.

Vinyáya began to slam around in the cabinets, growling as ferociously as a crack-fiend mama bear. _"Where_," she said before too long, "is the coffee machine?" He had put away _every_ appliance. Even the toaster was out of sight, leaving her counters completely bare, but for a knife block (which he was keeping a close eye on). She wasn't even aware she had that much cabinet space. Whenever she tried to put something away, a dozen other items had to be tugged out of the cupboards, so he had either thrown a lot of stuff out or practiced some sort of Tetris-level storage ability.

"Third cabinet from the right of the sink. I thought you didn't drink coffee?" He bit into his pastry. Then, thinking of something, he spoke again, crumbs flying from his stuffed cheeks. "Be careful."

"Why," Vinyáya grumbled, glad that she had finally found her beloved brewer, as well as the grounds and filters, "do I need to be _careful_? I know how to make a cup of coffee." She slammed the machine on the counter, none too worried about breaking the appliance, though she did check to make sure the pot wasn't cracked by the move. Luckily (as she would have probably had a Vesuvias-level blow-up), it was fine, and she continued her preparations.

"I've been reading some books that Ar...a librarian recommended to me, and it says that drinking a lot of coffee could result in...er...miscarriage." He turned green at this and put down his food. "How many cups do you drink a day?"

Shrugging, Vinyáya filled a filter with several scoops of grounds, shoving it roughly into the machine and tossing a few cupfulls of water in. "I just drink it when I'm really tired, and then...four, five cups?" She punched the "brew" button and stood back, tapping her foot as she waited for the life-giving liquid to flow.

Grub was staring at her, eyes wide in alarm. "Five...that is _way _too much!"

Hands on her hips, Vinyáya turned her head to look at her new roommate, though she didn't turn her chest from the counter. "Really. Your book told you this, I suppose?"

"Yes!" Grub reached for the coffee machine's "off" button, but found his wrist suddenly encased in a vice-like grip. His hand was swiftly pinned to the counter, the force of the transition sending a jolt of pain up his arm. He looked up and found his face so close to Vinyáya's that her hair brushed against his nose. He had rarely managed to get this close to the woman (at least as their heads were concerned) and was generally pleased when he managed to do so, but this time he was somewhat worried about her eating his face off. Her teeth looked rather sharp, at the moment, though he tried to appeal to his inner logic and remember that they were no sharper than any other elf's.

"_Do not_," she growled, "mess with the coffee. _Ever_." She ended the words with her lips raised in a full snarl. The bright lights of the kitchen flashed on her canines.

"But..." Grub whimpered, trying to tug his hand away, only to have the pressure on his wrist double. "The baby!" The smell of the brewing coffee suddenly seemed to turn sinister to him. He had always loved the drink, but now....

"I don't ca—" Vinyáya seemed to freeze. She sniffed once. Then again. Slowly, she turned her head to look at the coffee machine.

She pushed away from Grub, crashing to the opposite end of the counter, where she proceeded to throw up in the newly-cleaned kitchen sink. The sound filled the kitchen, competing with the perky percolation, interspersed with her inventive curses. "Make it stop!" she howled, then again heaved phenomenally.

Grub approached her back, hands extended, ready to sooth her. "It's just morning sickness. It happens. What should I—"

"NO!" Vinyáya shook her head, reaching up to clutch the faucet, as if that would keep her steadier than the counter. "The coffee! Make it _stop!_"

Grub halted his approach, ears twitching. "The...coffee?" He looked at the machine, mind working far too slowly for the situation he found himself in. "What is—"

"It smells _AWFUL!_" Again she vomited, crying out as if in true pain. "_Please_."

Grub finally got it. He swiftly unplugged the coffee machine and took the brew, machine and all, out of the kitchen's sliding glass door, all the way to the opposite end of the garden. He returned moments after leaving the machine on a bench and took a towel out of a drawer. He began to flap this around, driving the smell out of the kitchen.

In just a few minutes, Vinyaya's vomiting had finished and she slid to the floor, back propped against the cabinets, wiping at her mouth with the neckline of her robe. She smacked her lips at the taste of bile, but did not feel ready to make her way to the recycling lounge to brush her teeth free of the acid.

Grub leaned over her, turning on the faucet to rinse out the sink. He took two glasses of water from the cabinets, filling one with water, and dampened his towel. He sank to his knees in front of Vinyáya, handing her the glass of water. "Rinse," he stated, then held out the other glass. "Spit."

She complied readily, repeating the first two steps half a dozen times before her mouth felt reasonably clean. She accepted the damp cloth and began to mop the vomit away from her face, groaning as she noticed some in her long hair, which she squeezed through the cloth several times before she felt reasonably clean.

Grub, satisfied, rinsed out the glasses and put them in the dishwasher.

Vinyáya watched him, slowly regaining her strength. It had been...gods, _decades_ since she last vomited, and she had forgotten how much it could weaken a body. Finally, when she felt in control, she decided to address something that had occurred to her the night before, but which she had not been able to ask the groggy elf. "You're some kind of compulsive, aren't you?"

Grub paused with his hand on the machine's door, frowning. "No," he said quickly, closing the dishwasher and sliding across the waterproof lock, starting the cleaning cycle. "No," he repeated, turning to the wing commander and holding his head high.

"Yes," Vinyáya returned, pushing herself off the ground and leaning against the counter for support. Her legs felt rubbery. Vaguely, she hoped there would be no secret missions to run off on today. She could do her duty, certainly, but it wouldn't be as pleasant as she normally found such outings. "I've never seen someone so..._clean_."

Grub seemed pleased at the words. "I like clean." He looked around the kitchen, smiling at his improvements. You could actually tell that the counters were black granite, now, and the dining room table (being no longer covered with detritus from every room) was faux-redwood, matching the flooring in the rest of the house, which was also perfectly visible.

"You like _cleaning_," Vinyáya countered, looking about the kitchen. "And cooking. And paperwork. And having everything in order at the LEP, or else you file _another _round of paperwork to make sure it's fixed. You have OCD."

"No," he said again, this time glowering. "Believe me, Dr. Cumulus will tell you. I do not. I just like order. I don't have a meltdown if things get out of order. I just..prefer they don't."

Vinyáya almost laughed, sure that he was making a joke, but choked it back. Choking it back proved to be a slight mistake, as she gagged, but did not bring anything up. "You...you've _asked_?"

"Yes," he said once more, and began to wonder if he would be battling her on everything from now on. He didn't relish the idea, but also didn't doubt it was a possibility, and a dangerous one. That could easily lead to the Wing Commander doing something a bit more violent than roughly removing his hand from a kitchen appliance. He vaguely wondered if he could get hazard pay for the time he would spend in this house with her, then brushed the thought aside. "My mother thought I should ask."

"Your _mother_? Why did _she _suggest it?" Vinyáya could smell a win coming on. She pursued it relentlessly.

Grub sighed. "Well...she's a _mother_. You know...the kind of person that is supposed to be concerned over her child?" He tilted his head, eyeing her.

There it was again. How had he learned to make such simple, cutting comments? It was worthy of Fowl, yet he'd always been so...compliant when she visited him. Of course, he'd been mostly silent, too. Vinyáya began to rethink her decision to offer him a room. She wasn't going to keep taking this. He needed to be put back in his place, or else they wouldn't even last the next three days, not to mention three months. "I didn't _ask_ for this child."

"You think I _did_?" Grub shook his head vehemently, leaning against the counter for support. It was the only kind he'd be getting here, after all. "I'm doing my best to make sure it is at least born healthy, if not...if not asked for." He closed his eyes, gathering himself together before continuing. "Which is why I _tried_ to warn you about drinking too much caffeine, but it appears that your body has solved that little issue itself. Glad it's on _my_ side."

Ah, yes. The vomiting. That little incident was itching at the back of Vinyáya's mind. "What...was that?" She looked at the sink and felt a roiling in her stomach at the memories. She hadn't vomited in a fashion that spectacular since her college years.

"Well, from what I've read," Grub said, tapping at his forehead, as if that would shake the knowledge loose, "pregnant women can become...sensitive to certain smells. It appears yours is coffee."

Vinyáya was horrified. It couldn't be true! Yet...her reaction a few days ago in the LEP break room.... She hadn't been able to get past the front door. Something in there had been setting off alarms in her brain. She had assumed Mulch Diggums had weaseled his way in for a little fact-gathering on his latest case, since he always stunk up a room, and hadn't gone back to confirm this when Short wound up being ill. Apparently, the scent had instead been brewing coffee. "You mean to tell me...that the smell of coffee is going to make me _sick_?"

Grub nodded, picking up his half-eaten pastry again and walking towards the dining room table. "For at least the next few months, I think."

Vinyáya did not like the fact that Grub was telling her how her body was going to be acting. For the last several hundred years, she had been in near-complete control of herself, and now the presence of a child that was—well, she wasn't sure _how_ big it was, at the moment, but it couldn't be too terribly developed—negligibly small was taking over. For a brief moment, she considered the alternative...then groaned at the idea. No. She was not...that wasn't her.

Pausing as he donned and adjusted his messenger bag, Grub inspected her. "Are you...do you need some more help?"

"_No_," Vinyáya snapped back, holding up a hand to ward him off. "I'm fine. Go. It looks like you're about to head out. I can take care of myself."

Grub looked down at his bag, brow furrowed, then back up to the woman. "Really, I can be a bit late—"

"That has already happened to one of us, and being late is not turning out so _stellar_, so I'd rather you just go."

"Fine. Fine. Just...call if you need anything." He moved out of the house slowly, constantly looking back, all the time raising Vinyáya's ire (even if he did not realize it) with each small pause. Finally, he stepped outside, closing the door behind him, and began the trek to Police Plaza.

Vinyáya waited a few seconds, in case he would pop his head back inside for a further offer of help. When he did not, she calmly walked into the back yard, opened the door to the recycling lounge, and proceeded to retch for the next half-hour. In the most dignified manner possible.

* * *

Understandably, Grub Kelp did not come back to help Vinyáya, being ignorant of her plight. So he merely took off down the street, a pair of headphones tucked into his ears. He hummed along to the music, his footsteps matching the beat, and nodded his head in agreement with the bands, even when he wasn't really certain what they were saying. As he walked, he read from his tablet, eyes darting across the screen with commendable speed. He barely noticed the world around him, except to glance up at the gilded gates that marked the entrance to Principality Hill, smiling nervously at the guard who scowled at him. Then he turned a corner and was back down to the tablet and engrossed in his task.

Thus, he did not hear the fairy calling out to him from the street, car slowed to follow him as they tried to get his attention. After a good minute of unsuccessful calls, queries, and mild insults, the fairy gave up the polite approach and laid into the horn.

Grub shot into the air, hands scrambling to keep hold of his tablet. He landed in a crouch, arms tight around his chest and tightly securing his precious digital organizer, and spun to face his attacker.

It was a slick silver convertible, the roof down (as there wasn't really a _need_ for a roof on a car in Haven, except to keep out noise and the occasional rockfall). At the helm, standing on the driver's seat so she could lean out over the windshield, was Lieutenant Lili Frond with an amused and annoyed look. "Kelp, what in the name of the old gods are you doing?" She tapped her manicured fingernails on the windshield, releasing an impressive drumming sound.

"Oh. Frond." He wasn't sure if he was acknowledging her or cursing at his discovery, and she gave a little smirk that seemed to say she was also uncertain, but warning him against the latter. He ripped the headphones out of his ears, tossing them over his shoulders. "Walking." He jerked his thumb behind, indicating the direction of Police Plaza.

"Well, _duh_. I meant what are you doing _here_." She waved back towards the Hill and surrounding communities. "I thought I always saw you walking in from the south of Haven, not the North."

"Oh." He was going to die. "I moved."

"...yesterday?"

Grub nodded. "Uh huh." He wanted to smack his forehead, but that seemed like it would just further convince Lili that he was an utter boob. "Yes. I...yes." Brilliant evasion.

Lili studied him. "You are going to walk three kilometers to Police Plaza...do a full work day, including an hour workout...and then walk three kilometers back here?"

"Er...yes?"

Lili's face lost a lot of expression. The strawberry-blond woman looked to the ceiling of the cavern (a reflex that the fairies hadn't lost, even after over 10,000 years under the ground and out of sight of the heavens), then she sank into the driver's seat. She pushed a button and the passenger-side door popped open with a pneumatic hiss. "Get inside, Kelp."

Grub stared at the door, as if it was some sort of decoy meant to disguise the mouth of a monster, which would slam down on him the second he went inside. Like an anglerfish. (Fucking anglerfish.) "I—"

Lili looked at him past the rear-view mirror, eyes thin slits. "I am _not_ going to lose paperwork processing because you were a _git_ and decided to exhaust yourself walking to work when you should have been studying. _Get in the car_."

"Yes, ma'am," Grub muttered and scurried in, buckling his seat-belt tight and settling in for the danger. Women in the LEP did not tend to drive safely. Not that they got into accidents, but he'd been in a car with Holly Short before. He'd almost needed a change of pants by the end of the day.

Either Lili was in a good mood or she was a naturally safe driver, as Grub only found himself whimpering a few times, and all because the other drivers on the road were exhibiting some early-evening rush-hour temper. He was disinclined to speak (beyond praying, perhaps) for the first part of the trip, but after a few minutes of silence as they waited in traffic on the outskirts of downtown Haven, Lili decided to force him into conversation so she could learn a bit more about what was going on.

"So...a new place? Why?"

"Oh...issues," Grub said, trying to be vague.

"Oh, yes. _Issues_. That explains everything," Lili said, her car coming to a dead stop, allowing her to turn in her seat and face him, manicured fingernails tapping the gearshift. "Let me guess...either you failed to pay rent, your mother decided it was time for you to 'become a real adult,' or she got a new boyfriend and decided to kick you out."

Grub had to smile at this. "Er...none, actually. _I _decided it was time to move out." After a moment, one of his ears twitched to the side. Gods, did _everyone_ in Police Plaza know he lived with his mother?

Lili leaned back in her seat, head shifting up and down as she studied him. "So you moved down the Hill on a _corporal's_ salary? Who's the kind heart?"

Damn. She was more observant than he thought. "No one. I—"

"Bullshit." Lili shook her head and edged the car a few meters further. "_No one_ lives that close to the Hill unless they make a _lot_ more than you, they inherited land, or they have a roommate."

"Oh? Then why are _you_ living there?" He smirked at the rejoinder.

"Inheritance," Lili muttered, clawing at the rubber-topped gearshift, lips clamping down to a thin line.

Grub could have kicked himself. Inheritance. Of course. Lili Frond, the last of the main branch of the Frond family. The only one who hadn't been devastated by the Spelltropy plague, and only spared because she had been placed in quarantine along with all of the other new LEP recruits at the beginning of the outbreak.

"Sorry," Grub whispered, looking at his feet.

"Don't be," she said, the edge gone from her voice already, finally managing to get onto the main street approaching Police Plaza, inching their way toward the underground parking area. "You can apologize by telling me who is putting up with...putting _you_ up for a while." She coughed.

"I...look, I don't think I can say," Grub admitted, blowing at a strand of hair that was getting into his eyes. "She would be pretty pi—"

"_Vinyáya!?_" Lili shrieked, her attention so quickly taken away from the road that she nearly ran into the car in front of her, only saved by a gasp of terror from Grub. Honking horns surrounded them, but they could not drown out her screeches. "_Vinyáya_ is letting you board with her?"

"What? No! Of course not!" Grub said too quickly to be believed, eyes widening in panic.

"Yes, it is!" Lili laughed, shaking her head. "She is the only woman I know that lives anywhere near the Hill that you have a _remote_ chance of knowing. The Ice Queen? _Living _with you? What is going _on_, Kelp?"

He had to think of something, and fast. Something close enough to the truth that he wouldn't ruin his story by repeating it incorrectly at a later date, but also vague enough that the noble wouldn't guess the real reason for his temporary cohabitation. "I...Vinyaya...Trouble...." It was not coming. He was in _so_ much trouble.

Lili watched him as much as she could without getting into an accident as she pulled into the parking structure and began searching for a free spot. "Hmmm...let me guess...Trouble and Vinyáya came over to your mother's house for...some reason," she went quite sarcastic on the last two words, smirked at the idea of what 'some reason' could be, wondering if she should be knocking on the two Commander's doors a bit longer in future, "and your mother ranted about how you haven't really _done_ anything since you got into the LEP, but your brother is Commander, so she kicked you out to 'push you along.' You're going for promotion to captain so you can make ends meet, maybe move back home, and Trouble forced Vinyáya to take you in until after the exam, to make up for screwing things over. Right?" She finally found a spot and slid in, turning off the engine with a small flourish, as if stating "tah dah!"

"I...no." Grub shook his head. "Not exactly. Vinyáya...volunteered to let me stay, and my mother is mad for other reasons."

Lili pursed her lips, gaze again shifting up and down Grub's body, making him feel more than _vaguely_ uncomfortable. "So...not going to tell me the full story?"

He shook his head, unruly hair whipping about and falling into his eyes when he stopped. He didn't trust himself to speak. Speaking was not going well for him in general, these days.

She raised her hands in surrender and popped their doors open. "Fine. Whatever. Shoo." She flapped her hands at him. "I've got a busy day, and so do you. Be here ten minutes after the shift ends."

Grub popped the door open, then snapped about to face her, gaping. "What?"

She gathered a few bags from the back seat and bumped the door closed with her hip. "Like I said, I am not losing premium paperwork processing because you are too daft to bunk with someone closer to work. You're on my way. So long as you aren't an ass, of course, but doesn't that go without saying?" She watched him for a moment, then leaned against the side of the car, angling over her door so she could get closer to him. "Grub...." Her voice was light. Chiding and playful.

He swallowed. "Er...what?"

"I'm late."

"It's not my fault!" He barked, backing into the passenger door, heart hammering.

"Yes, it is," Lili snapped back, but without too much intensity. She flicked her hand at him. "Get out of the car, or I'll be even later, and you do _not_ want to see Holly's reaction if I'm not on the office when she shows up."

Grub stared at her, mind frozen, and then got it. "Oh!" He staggered out of the car, slamming the door behind him and jumping rather high in the air when the car honked to confirm that Lili had locked it. "Sorry!"

She shook her head, smiling. "You are a _spaz_." With that, she turned and sashayed across the parking structure, hips at a natural sway that made her long, lightly curled hair drift about as if in a breeze.

Grub watched her go, feeling rather stupid. How the _hell_ did he keep getting himself into these situations? With a long-suffering sigh, he followed after, taking out his tablet and continuing his reading.

* * *

**Preview: I'm learning to breathe,/ I'm learning to crawl./ I'm finding that you and you alone can break my fall.**


	11. This is the Way That I Say

**Song: "Learning to Breath" by Switchfoot  
**

* * *

**Chapter 11: This is the Way That I Say...**

**Week 6-Part 5**

Grub _hated_ working out. The LEP required him to partake in a half-hour of moderate physical activity a day, and he had so far fulfilled his obligation (with the standard pound of complaints every week) by going to the Police Plaza gym for a light jog. It allowed him to listen to his music or watch a short show, and no one (after the first three lectures to the entire LEP from the old Commander Root) bothered him about taking things so easy. This had never seemed like a problem before, but Lili...Lili had put _weightlifting _on his gym schedule.

Something was seriously wrong with that woman.

Now Grub was regretting the last twenty years of slacking. The half-hour jogs had given him some stamina and his gangly shape, but he was still among the least physically-fit officers in the force. Others may have had a more rotund build, but all of them could lift more, punch harder, and climb higher than Grub. He had barely squeaked by into the position of corporal on jogging. He had no idea how he was going to strengthen himself to survive as a captain.

So, in accordance with Frond's outline, Grub shortened his time on the treadmill to 15 minutes, but tripled his speed. By the end of his three kilometers of running, he was too exhausted to even reach up and hit the emergency shut-off switch. As a result, he utilized an easy—if painful and remarkably unintelligent—escape route: he stopped running.

Grub was shot off the back of the treadmill, feet moving faster than his torso until he was held at an alarming angle. What little breath he maintained at the end of his run was promptly lost as he landed hard on his chest, his fall only lightly cushioned by the rubber-padded floor. Grub whimpered and wheezed, curling up into a ball, arms crossed over his chest. "Mu...Mum...son of a _bitch!" _he finally gasped, blue sparks flashing in his eyes. He wasn't entirely certain if they were from healing or just the proverbial "seeing stars."

In the square of empty space that was surrounded by the ranged treadmills, stationary bikes, and other cardio machines, Trouble Kelp and Ash Vein (the sprite major who had lost out to Holly Short on the position of second-in-command to the new Recon/Retrieval commander) began to laugh. They were both shirtless—though their lower halves were decently covered in loose green LEP jogging pants—and displaying infuriatingly well-developed chest and arm muscles. The pair were juggling three medicine balls between them, letting out loud puffs of air with each catch. The floor around them was already dotted with sweat, and they had only arrived half-way through Grub's run.

Ash jerked his head in the corporal's direction. "The runt is going for the exam, I heard."

Trouble nodded, teeth gritted as he caught the balls. "Yep." He really didn't feel like elaborating. Vein was his best Recon officer, behind Short, but he was also his most troublesome employee. Even Chix Verbil didn't received as many complaints about his behavior.

"So...how'd he fuck up?"

Trouble chuckled. "You wouldn't believe me if I was at liberty to say."

"Oooo...intriguing." Vein turned his head slightly, sizing up the young Kelp while still keeping an eye on the exercise balls.

Grub finally managed to collect himself, sitting up and shaking his head. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes, but stopped mid-sweep. Slowly, he took his hand away and looked at his palm, which was now covered in sweat. "Oh....ewewew!" He flicked his hand and wiped it on the ground.

"Yo, Maggot!" Vein called.

Grub flinched. He really hated Vein. The sprite had only been in the Academy alongside him for one year, but he made his impression as the kind of upperclassman who expected the new students to run his errands and let him go first in any line. Things hadn't changed much between them. "It's 'Grub.'" The corporal stood, dusting off his chest, pulling at his shirt to un-stick it from his skin. Gods, he felt unclean....

"Hear you're looking for a promotion. What'd you do?"

Trouble rolled his eyes. He needed to distract Vein, or else this had a very high potential to end badly. "Hup!" he called, giving Vein a moment to react before he altered the range of his throws.

Vein sprang into the air, his wings beating furiously. With each catch, he dipped a foot or two, forcing his wings to beat even faster until the ball left his hands, empty for only a few seconds before the next weight came his way. This was a normal exercise between the two high-ranking officers, so it did not distract Vein for long. "I mean—huff!—you must have—haaa!—done something—woah!—pretty stupid."

Grub looked about the gym. Vinyáya hadn't appeared yet, but he wasn't sure about her daily schedule. Hers seemed...erratic. He had never managed to pin it down. She might be slated for a day in the office, then the wing commander would disappear with no notice, not even her harried secretary clued in as to where the elf had gone. She was always back the next day, and she often seemed...bright-eyed. Becalmed. It was intriguing, but utterly incomprehensible.

Seeing that the gym was pretty much empty, excepting some new recruits from Traffic, Grub decided it was safe to respond. "No...I'd say what I did was pretty clever." He looked to his brother, who was smirking, though he was also shaking his head.

"Oh, really? Seems to me—that the only thing—that comes out of you—grah!—is a wide variety—of failure."

Grub was about to snap back—probably saying something he really should have kept to himself—but was saved by Trouble's call of "Up top!"

Vein, distracted by his jibes at the young Kelp, did not react in time. One of the medicine balls crashed into his forehead, weighting him down. He fell the ten feet to the gym floor, bellowing in pain at a snap in his left wing.

"D'arvit!" Trouble grunted, dodging the ball that had been falling towards him and going to Veins side. He pulled the sprite into a sitting position and grabbed the tip of a wing. Stretching it roughly until the thin bones were in proper alignment, Kelp flooded the thick wing with magic. The wound healed instantly and Vein flapped his wing a few times to ascertain if there was any lasting damage.

Satisfied that he was not crippled for life (Trouble had a lot of experience healing sprites, from his long association with Vein and Verbil, and it had been a break, not a puncture, like Chix had suffered so long ago), Vein stood unsteadily, stretching the soreness out of his muscles and tilting his head to either side until his neck popped. "Gah...nice, you guys. Real nice." He brushed his hands along his buzz-cut head, getting rid of the gym-floor dirt.

"Just shut up, Vein," Trouble snapped, picking up two exercise balls and taking up position about two meters away from the sprite.

"No, no," the captain said, holding up his hands to ask his commander to wait a while. "Something is going on here, and everyone in the LEP knows it. Maggot is trying to do the impossible, and I think we all want to know why. Tell me...what has got you up in a lather?"

Corporal Kelp tried not to scream in frustration. The sprite would _never_ give up, would he? Didn't he realize that he was asking about something extremely sensitive? Well...of course he did. That was just Vein. Grub had never met such an obtuse fairy in his life...excepting possibly Chix. "Nothing. It's just time for me to go for a promotion. I've been a corporal for longer than almost anyone on the force." His ears were twitching, picking up every sound. The pounding of feet on treadmills. The squeak of gears long in need of an oiling. The opening of the gym door and approaching light footfalls. Familiar footfalls....

"Oh, sure." Vein snorted, rolling his eyes. "Let me guess...you want to hide behind the Acorn Shield, but you're not high up enough to get away with anything? Or maybe you want to boss around a few subordinates? No, no! I got it!" He laughed, smacking his head at his own stupidity. "A girl. It's _always_ a girl." He leered at the elf, waggling his eyebrows, but there was no typical male camaraderie in the gesture. "Tell me, what stupid woman did you manage to convince to fu—oof!"

A thin figure flitted past Grub's peripheral vision, hand clamping over Vein's mouth. Vinyáya didn't even break stride as she continued, tucking one shoe behind Vein's feet and pushing with all of her strength, sending the sprite crashing to the floor, where he landed directly on his folded wings. She gave Trouble a very quiet low-five as she passed and took her place on one of the treadmills without once looking back.

Vein was wheezing from the pain of again landing on his precious wings. He looked up at Trouble for assistance. "What is up with her, man?"

"Er...must be 'that time of the month.' You know how she is." Trouble shrugged and went to Vein's side, pulling him to his feet. "Come on, let's talk to a medic, this time for that bruising."

Vein nodded in agreement, whimpering as he was led out of the gym, muttering something about "crazy broads." He did not question Trouble about why he wasn't healing him directly. Whatever was necessary to beat a dignified retreat from the cold female.

Heaving a sigh, Grub walked to Vinyáya's treadmill. He stopped behind her, collecting his thoughts. "Er...thanks," he finally muttered, speaking softly so the rest of the gym couldn't overhear. Not an overwhelming show of appreciation, but it was all he could choke out.

Vinyáya barely flicked her eyes at him, but she gave the younger elf a small nod. She punched at the treadmill's buttons harder than was strictly necessary, speed rising so she soon broke into a jog.

Grub stared at her back. Then he nodded and walked off towards the free-weights, feeling lighter than he had in days.

One rep on the bench press later, that feeling was gone. "_D'arvit!_" He kicked his legs in the air, as if that would help him lift the ludicrously small load.

Vinyáya looked over at him and smiled, shaking her head.

* * *

By lunchtime, Vinyáya was dragging. The Gnommish letters on her screen were beginning to meld together (or else the goblins were whispering about a new rebellion involving nail-clippers in pudding...), and her secretary was being particularly irritating. In that he was breathing. She was just beginning to consider skipping out for the rest of the day when there was a knock at the door.

She hadn't even had a drink the last night, yet she felt like she had a hangover. No one had ever mentioned to her that pregnancy felt a lot like the night after a binge; if they had, she would have been a _lot_ more careful with her reproductive tendencies. The officer remained silent, hoping that the intruder would leave, but the knock merely came again. Rubbing her temples with both hands, Vinyáya decided it was best to give in. "Enter," she said, in what she hoped was a deep, forbidding voice.

There was an awkward pause as whoever stood on the other end considered her tone. Then the door opened and Grub came in holding a thermos and a green box.

Vinyáya groaned. "Corporal..._why_ are you here? This had better be good." She really didn't need rumors to start flying already.

He closed the door behind him, smiling nervously. "I...well, I thought...I just...ugh." He finished intelligently, knocking the back of his wrist against his forehead. Crossing the room, the male placed the thermos and box on her desk. He took several steps back, rubbing at his neck and inspecting the ground. "It's green tea. There's some caffeine in it—not as much as coffee, though—and it hopefully wont trigger your nausea. Just...don't drink too much. Please?"

Vinyáya stared at Grub for a long time, not sure how to respond. When she realized he wasn't going to make a move, the woman tentatively picked up the thermos, unscrewed the cap, and sniffed. It didn't do anything to her stomach, so she took a sip. Vinyáya wasn't lying all those years ago, when she said she preferred tea, and she was a fairly good judge of quality. Wherever he had bought the leaves, it was a rather nice blend. She savored the taste, breathing in the steam. She could already feel herself waking up and, while she was sure it was mostly a placebo effect, she appreciated it.

Slowly, she remembered that Grub was still there. Vinyáya set the thermos down, keeping her hands wrapped around the warm container. "I...thank you, Corporal."

He nodded, giving her a very small grin and two-fingered salute before slipping out of the office without further comment.

Vinyáya watched the door, wondering at the brief interlude. Then she sipped her tea again and let the caffeine truly seep in. She would have to look up what her limit should be, or else he was sure to have another panic attack. For now, she enjoyed the infusion and the calm it brought.

* * *

Some hours later, every muscle in his body ready to fall off and/or burst into flames, Grub dragged himself to the parking garage. Lili was already in her car, though the driver's-side door was open and she was sitting with her legs hanging out, adjusting her pantyhose.

Grub stopped in front of her, looking down, and gave a greeting. "Nnnnnnnnnnhiiii." It was reasonably coherent, given his day.

Lili jumped, not expecting such a bestial greeting. She recovered quickly, sitting straight and draping one arm across her steering wheel, ready to go. "Good workout?" she queried.

Grub just stared at her, not trusting himself to say anything competent or civil. Civil being very important, given that he was pretty sure a three mile walk back to his new home would kill him. So, slowly, he nodded.

Lili observed him for a while, then began to laugh. She covered her mouth with the back of a hand to be kind, but her eyes shone. "I...I'm so _sorry_. I'm not trying to be mean. Come on. Get in." She popped the passenger door and gave a little shove, opening it for the exhausted corporal.

Staggering like a drunk fairy, Grub walked to the other side of the car and collapsed into the seat. When the car didn't move, he looked about in confusion. He narrowed his eyes at his open door. Holding onto the seat with one hand, he leaned out over the ground and swiped his hand at the handle. He missed half a dozen times, leaning a bit further out after each try. When he finally lunged forward and caught the handle, he poised himself, hunched over the ground, and considered what to do. Sadly, there was only one thing he could do in this position. With a mighty heave and a tightening of his abs, Grub folded his body up and pulled in the door, the move accompanied by a short shriek that would have made a _castrati_ envious.

Once the echo of the door slamming dissipated, he panted before sinking into his seat, flailing behind his back until he caught the belt and latched it into place.

Lili, who had, of course, been watching the entire thing, blinked. "Need a healing?"

Grub shook his head. "I am _not_ getting less than 100 percent of the benefits of that..._torture_." He could certainly heal away the pain and torn muscles, but it would make the day completely pointless. Muscles were built by the body repairing damaged tissue, and that could only be accomplished through old-fashioned, magic-less healing, as fairy gifts returned the body to its _original _state, not an improved condition. Otherwise, every fairy would be a body builder.

"Well...make sure you get a good hot bath when you get home, or else your muscles will be too stiff to move," Lili said, starting her car. She stared at her wheel after she said this, mouth slightly open. Shaking her head to clear it, she began the tricky process of driving through Haven during the evening rush hour. She focused closely on the traffic, determined to avoid a nasty collision, completely forgetting everything but the shape of her car and how it fit among the other vehicles.

Several minutes later, the youngest Frond remembered that she had a passenger and should do the polite car host thing and ask him about his day. She turned her head a fraction, mouth open to begin her queries. Then she stopped.

Grub was leaned against the door, holding his bag close to his chest. He was breathing softly, though he jerked every so often. He frowned, as if the intense nature of his tasks had made its way even into his dreams.

Lili laughed silently, shaking her head, and decided to let him rest. The corporal would get used to his new schedule soon enough. In the meantime, he would need every second of sleep he could steal.

* * *

Half an hour later, Lili finally fought her way out of downtown Haven and coasted through the outskirts of the Hill, driving slowly as she looked for Vinyáya's house. She had only visited the place once, in order to deliver a package that Holly had _assured_ her was _very important_ and _completely_ within her LEP duties to deliver (though she refused to explain what it was, only stating that she would kill Lili and _then_ fire her if she peeked), but she did recall that it was the least imposing of all the houses in the area. When she finally found a likely candidate, Lili parked in front and looked at Grub, who was still passed out.

Sighing, as if highly put-upon by the procedure, Lieutenant Frond stepped out of her car and went to the front door. She rang the doorbell and then rested in the at-ease position, though her left foot tapped with impatience.

Not long later, Vinyáya opened the door and stared at her. "Frond. Is the gate to the Hills malfunctioning or something?"

"No, Wing Commander," Lili said, "I'm bringing home a little lost boy."

Vinyáya stared at her, then looked over her shoulder to the car. She went tense. "I...I...."

"I think what you're doing is great," Lili said, laying a reassuring hand on Vinyáya's shoulder (Vinyáya stared at the hand, but Lili failed to notice her astonished gaze at this touch). "I mean...I've met Ms. Brenner. She showed up at Frond family events and...." She let out a long, low whistle. "Grub wont tell me what you and Trouble did to piss Brenner off, but I can guess," she winked at Vinyáya, who took a step back, escaping the blond's grasp, "that it was _interesting._ So_..._it's real good of you to help him until he can do this on his own."

"I...." Vinyáya's expression cleared and she nodded. "I...right. Yes. It seemed...decent."

"It is," Lili affirmed, smiling with her entire face, even scrunching up her nose. "Grub may be a ponce, but...well, Hibiscus is just a bitch."

There was a pause.

Then both women began to laugh.

The ice thus broken, Lili trotted off and awoke Grub. Practically dragging him up the walkway before shoving him in the front door. Finding himself inside, Grub looked about, trying to remember why he would be brought to such a place. Eventually, he seemed to remember, or at leas this muscles did, as he staggered off to his bedroom. There came a loud thump, several long squeaks, and an impressive set of snores.

The women said their polite goodbyes, trying to avoid another descent into hilarity at Ms. Brenner's expense, just in case Grub heard and instinctively rushed in to defend his mother's honor. Then the door was closed, Lili returned to her car, and Vinyáya came into Grub's room, like a black cloud rising over a lone traveller far from civilization.

"What," she said, trying to be as calm as possible while also wondering exactly how to kill the groggy corporal without being brought to justice, "did you tell Frond?"

Grub jerked awake, rubbing at his eyes. He looked at his host a moment, then groaned, burying his head in the crook of his elbow. "Nothing. Just that you're letting me stay here for a while. Nothing incriminating."

"_Nothing incriminating?_" Vinyáya hissed, leaning over the foot of Grub's bed, digging her nails into the soft faux-wood material. "She seems to think something_ sexual_ is going on between Trouble and me."

"Oh," Grub muttered, about as far from caring as possible. "Want me to give her a call and set her straight on which Kelp you _are_ fucking?"

Vinyáya etched eight deep, long trenches into the footboard. "No. That would be a lie, too. I'm not fucking _any_ of you, now." Pushing off from the bed so that the head slammed into the wall, Vinyáya swept out of the room and into her own, slamming the door behind her.

Grub lay there a moment, frowning. Then he shrugged and rolled onto his stomach, pulling a pillow to his chest and spooning with the soft cushion. "Not like I didn't guess that a while ago...." He yawned widely and drifted off to sleep.

He would be in a horrendous mood when he woke up. The corporal had forgotten his hot shower.

* * *

**I find Grub cursing as he falls off the treadmill to be so friggen cute. About to say "Mummy," and then moving on to curse like a big boy. Sigh...my goofy elf, growing up....**

* * *

**Preview: I loved a girl once/ beyond compare./ She saw inside me/ and gave me air.**


	12. Seen the Doctor

**Song: "Seen the Doctor" by Michael Penn**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Seen the Doctor**

**Week 7**

Grub must have said something to Lili the next Monday, because—all previous experiences to the contrary—the last Frond didn't say anything that incriminated Vinyáya or the Kelps, though she seemed unable to contain a leer whenever she saw the two commanders talking. At first, Trouble had been confused by her reaction. Then Vinyáya, as blandly as possible, told him about the strawberry blond's conclusions.

Trouble seemed distraught. "She...thinks we...?"

Vinyáya nodded. "Yeeeeeep."

"Oh," Trouble moaned, slamming his head on his desk, "_damn_."

Vinyáya raised an eyebrow at this, but no further words were forthcoming.

Hibiscus was not so accommodating. After two weeks of silence on all ends, which no one (least of all Vinyáya) found reassuring, the wing commander arrived at her office one morning to find a data crystal with that week's tabloids resting on her desk. As a top official in the LEP and a member of the Council, she could not afford to ignore these sensationalist publications, though she did leave the grunt work to her secretary, Cirrus, who tagged any pieces that would be relevant to her. So, settling down with a mug of tea, Vinyáya began to flip through the gossip columns.

Ten minutes in, she spit out her current mouthful, but not from horror. Instead, she was roaring with laughter, and had to grab a handful of tissues to gather the tea that was now dribbling out of her mouth and nose, as well as the tears emerging from the corners of her eyes.

Her gnome secretary popped his head into the office, hands curling around the side of the door. He hedged a moment, biting his lower lip, before venturing a guess. "You've seen the Brenner piece?"

"Ah...yes." Soothing herself, Vinyáya melted into her chair. She felt a lot better than she had in several days. "Love it."

Cirrus looked like he wanted to close the door for what little extra protection it would provide him once the officer fully processed the text. "She...she called you..."

"The most manipulative bitch on the Council since Nan Burdeh, yes." Picking up her tablet again, Vinyáya began scanning through more of the article. "Oh, look. She says I have more aggressive tendencies than an average elf...how evasive of her." The rest of the article was more criticism of her political practices, along with the sudden development of her relationship with Lope. It was never actually mentioned the scandalous theory, but every hint at above or below-average behavior or physical attributes, like her hair, screamed of the media's typical dance done around unverifiable information; specifically, on her bloodline. No one, not even Vinyáya, had the full outline of her ancestry, so any claims brought against it would be slander. So sideways accusations and behind-the-hand smirks were what was left to Brenner.

Vinyáya practically crooned at the headline. "Most manipulative bitch since Burdeh...you know, Cirrus, I think this Brenner might like me! I'm flattered!"

Cirrus decided to follow his normal strategy when dealing with his boss: he smiled and nodded, slowly backing away from the door, allowing it to swing closed on its weighted hinges and leave the woman to her own devices.

* * *

**Week 8**

Life began to settle into a pattern quite quickly. Lili picked up Grub before work, giving him a few minutes at the office before Vinyáya herself arrived. His day was filled with studying, marksmanship, and physical training, while the wing commander's was filled with delegation, debriefings, and sudden disappearances that left nearly all of the LEP utterly confused. At the end of the day, Lili took Grub back, though he had yet to remain awake during the trek. As the days progressed, he managed to retain a bit more energy until he was finally able to stay awake to a reasonable hour when at his temporary home.

Thus, about two weeks after moving in with Vinyáya, Grub was sitting in one of the living room chairs, going over the "What to Expect" book Fowl had donated to him, occasionally looking at Vinyáya, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing a microphone headset and holding a game controller, giving orders to computer-operated troops as they prepared to attack the necrotic hordes.

"Vinyaya..." he began, looking between her and the book.

She glanced at him, though she remained mostly focused on the screen. For being mindless beasts, zombies were clever motherfuckers and had to be carefully monitored. "Yes?"

"Um...I...can I ask you a few questions? About...your...er, medical history? For the pregnancy?"

Vinyáya considered this, then shrugged. "Fine. What?"

"Um..." he began again, blushing. "Do you...drink a lot? Like...alcohol?"

Vinyáya shook her head. "Oh, come on. _Everyone_ knows about that. Not since I found out, and one drink or so a week before that."

Grub considered this, reading on. He relaxed. "Okay...you don't smoke, but do you spend time around smokers?"

Another shake of the head. "Not since Root passed away. The Council is a bunch of tee-totaling prudes, so no. No smoke."

"Good." He looked further. "Um...any...drug use?"

Vinyáya sighed, pausing her game so she could look Grub in the eye. "You mean besides the pound of cocaine I snort every night?"

Grub stared at her, mouth open in horror. "You..."

"_No_, Kelp," Vinyáya snapped, rolling her eyes. "No drug use. Not since my college days, and _that_," she said, jabbing a finger at him before he could ask her for details, "is my business. Anything else?"

Grub swallowed, looking down at a highlight where one glaring question waited. Well...he might as well ask this while she was already irritated at him. "Have you...have you ever had..."

Vinyáya tapped the side of her controller, impatient to get back to killing the undead. She loathed the undead.

"Have you ever had...an...anabortionormiscarriage?" He cringed, holding the book before his face.

Vinyáya stopped her tapping. She almost seemed to be considering what her answer should be. Then she sighed, shaking her head. "No. As it happens, you have gone where no man has gone before. Or at least your little soldiers have. Congrats." She returned to the screen.

Grub's shoulders unwound and he went back to flipping through the pages, allowing Vinyáya to continue decimating the legions of Hell.

Then he read something that sent a stab of fear directly into his heart. He read on, and the knife twisted back and forth with each line, kicking his adrenalin into high gear. "V-V-V-Vinyáya?"

She did not respond, whispering to her comrades.

Grub couldn't take it. Video games and his own personal safety be _damned_, he had to know! Sliding off the couch, he grabbed both of her shoulders so the woman was forced to look directly at him, their faces centimeters apart. "Vinyáya!"

"_What!_" she barked, pausing the game before her troops became victims of the accursed villagers.

"_How competent is your cervix?_"

Vinyáya narrowed her eyes. "How what is my _what_?"

He repeated himself, this time a bit slower, but that didn't seem to clarify things for the superior officer.

Grunting, Vinyáya leaned over and plucked his book from the chair. She looked at the page he was on and read the section marked "incompetent cervix." Then she flipped through the book and looked at all of the other questions. She sighed. "Look, Kelp, I don't know. I haven't exactly quizzed my cervix on its abilities."

Grub whimpered. "You haven't?"

"No," she drawled, rolling her eyes. "I'm afraid I've been sticking to the more safe subjects, like what she thinks of the Tremors for Crunchball champions and how she likes her tea._ Of course I haven't _asked_ it!_ I'm sure it's quite competent. I bet it could change a flat tire and everything, so _drop it_."

"But...but...what if—"

Vinyáya covered Grub's mouth with her hand. "Kelp. Calm. The fuck. Down. I highly doubt that I have an incompetent cervix."

"Buh...dooo huuu _nuuu?_"

"No, I don't know, but..." She looked at him for a long while. Then she came to a conclusion. A rather obvious one, really. "You are going to be a spaz about this until every little bit of this book is covered, aren't you?"

He nodded, mumbling around her hand, but she ignored that. Whatever he had to say, she doubted it was something she wanted to hear.

"Fine. A good thing you lost it now, then. My first doctor's appointment is tomorrow after work. If you will _shut the hell up_ until then, I will let you come with me and bombard Dr. Ginko with every little worry you have. But if you ask me one more _damn_ question, you can forget about hearing anything about the pregnancy until someone comes into your office and tells you I just popped the kid out, _okay_?" She removed her hand.

"Okay," Grub nodded, but he was smiling.

"Good," Vinyáya said, turning back to her game and undoing the pause. "Now, _DIE YOU ZOMBIE SCUM!_"

* * *

The next day, Grub made his excuses to Lili, who seemed intrigued over why Grub would be going anywhere but home after work, though she didn't ask further. He met the elder female elf a few blocks away from Police Plaza, as she had instructed, in order to keep the trip a secret. With a baleful look at the magna-bike, which seemed to be growling a warning to the corporal, like a possessive Rottweiler, Grub swing himself on behind Vinyáya and tried to hold onto the bike without latching onto the woman driving. He doubted she'd appreciate her pillion rider turning into a clingy mess in more than one manner. She seemed to also realize this, for Vinyáya did not engage in her normal racing as she worked their way to the hospital.

Vinyáya had apparently been planning this trip carefully. Grub expected to spend the standard half hour waiting among the other expectant parents, perhaps getting in some pleasant gossip and commiserations, but the wing commander instead took him around to the back of Haven's main hospital, where they entered through an inconspicuous door and began to wind their way through a long series of dimly lit passages.

"Er...shouldn't there be a receptionist or something?" Grub asked, eyes darting about. He hated places like this. He was always expecting a perp to pop out and put a hole in his stomach with a softnose laser. For having so little involvement in the B'wa Kell Rebellion, he had some pretty vivid post-traumatic stress.

"Receptionists talk," Vinyáya responded, crashing through a door into another long, inconspicuous corridor. "Dr. Ginko is known for his secrecy. He sees a lot of the Haven celebrities and politicians. At present, I _really_ don't need anyone knowing about this, so the back door it is. Much easier."

"Life would be easier in general if we had just used the back door," Grub muttered.

Vinyáya shot a startled look at him. "I would _never_..." She shook her head to dislodge the thought. "Men," she grumbled and pushed a final door open.

They came out into another corridor, but this was much more welcoming than the metal and concrete affairs of the back of the building. The walls were painted a soft green, with a faux-wood chair rail going all around to border the white and blue wallpaper below. The carpet was a light cream, the texture as soft as the color, which was also reflected in the frames of the many pastoral paintings that lined the walls. There were a few other doors in the corridor, but they were all closed, except for one at the very end of the hall, which opened into an office that seemed—if possible—more comforting and soft than the hall.

From within the office, there came a startled grunt. An old elf appeared in the door, his ginger hair streaked with grey. Many lines crossed his face as he smiled at the arrivals. "Ah, Miss Vinyáya. Right on time, most excellent. And...the father, I presume?" He looked to Grub, who squirmed, unsure of how to answer.

"Yes," Vinyáya affirmed, walking down the corridor closely followed by her nervous partner. "This is Corporal Kelp. He has a few questions for you."

Instantly, the doctor's face fell. "Oh," he said, looking the young elf over. "Oh," he said again, rubbing a hand through his short, slowly disappearing hair. "Right." He knew the look of this type. A fretter. Well...a few tests and a long talk would sort him out, even if it would be annoying as hell. There was one in every couple.

Ginko took a small packet from his office and handed it to Vinyáya, opening a door to a side room. "Please put these on, and then..." he walked a bit further down the hall and opened a second door. He bowed, waving the pair inside, "step on in and make yourself comfortable."

Grub and Vinyáya complied, separating briefly while the woman changed. Grub began to enter, but soon stopped in the doorway, staring at the seating arrangements. When Vinyáya finished changing into a thin green shift that barely covered her upper thighs on the front (and failed to cover anything on the back, unless she held it in place) and came in, he jabbed a finger at what seemed to be a normal examination table...except that it sported two long metal arms at the base, at the end of which were oven mitts. "What the hell is _that_ for?"

Vinyáya poked at the mitts, frowning. "For me." She jumped onto the table, the paper cover crinkling under her, and crossed her arms, waiting for the doctor. She did not touch the metal arms further. In fact, she refused to glance their way.

Grub kept staring at them, trying to work this mystery out. When Dr. Ginko came up behind him and cleared his throat, Grub gave an apologetic bob of the head and went to one of the empty plastic and metal guest chairs. The rest of the office seemed quite comfortable, but these reminded him of seating in primary school. About as small, too.

Ginko sat in a rather posh faux-leather swivel chair and took a data tablet from the counter that lined one wall, which was covered in an organized variety of medical supplies. He tapped the surface for a few minutes, going through the records and forms he would need. Thus organized, he went to the top of his checklist and looked up at Vinyáya. "Now, you took a home pregnancy test about three weeks ago, but you haven't had a blood-based test, correct?"

"Yes," Vinyáya affirmed, crossing her legs and jiggling the one on top, impatient already.

"Then I'll be taking some blood to test after the exam," the doctor muttered, making a note to himself on the clipboard.

Grub frowned. "After the exam? Wouldn't you want to take blood _before_ you did any sort of exam?"

Dr. Ginko looked at Grub over the rim of his glasses. "No...I would do the exam _now_, rather than making the coucilwoman wait while her blood work processed, then asking her back in here. Unless you have some sort of heretofore unknown medical degree that can convince me to act otherwise, I think we should continue with the appointment as scheduled."

Vinyáya smirked.

Grub glowered, grabbing onto the sides of his seat and lowering his head. He did _not_ like this doctor. He began to consider formal complaints to the medical associations. Really, the physician's tone was unacceptable.

"Right," the doctor said briskly, flipping to his next page. "Medical history...no major illnesses, it looks like. No known allergies, all of your blood tests have always been phenomenally well-balanced, so that leaves...the _personal_ questions." He looked up to Vinyáya, who was staring him down. "The Big Three, as I like to call them. Any previous pregnancies?"

"Nope," Vinyáya said, leg jiggling a little faster.

"Frequency of sexual relations before the conception?"

Vinyáya actually blushed at this. "At least five times a week, except during menstruation."

Dr. Ginko gave a little start, flickering his gaze to Grub.

Grub couldn't help it. He shrugged and did his best to keep his lips from twitching.

With a cough, the doctor asked his last question. "Number of sexual partners in the past five years?"

There was a tense silence. Grub focused on Vinyáya, who had closed her eyes.

"One."

Grub again looked to the floor, but now he was smiling just a bit.

"Alright," Ginko said, setting his tablet aside and rolling his chair up to Vinyáya. He took a stethoscope from a drawer under the table and rubbed the metal end against his jacket. Despite this small gesture, Vinyáya still jumped as the cold metal touched her back. "Okay, miss. Deep breath in...hold it...and out. Give me another in...hold...and out..." His voice had taken on that wonderful soothing tone that every doctor maintains during this procedure. Outdated it may have been for the People, but the psychological effect of such soft talk accompanying a simple procedure kept it from being done away with, despite medical advances. "Very good. Now, the front," he mumbled, curling his hand around Vinyáya's side and placing the chest-piece on top of her left breast. "In...and out." He switched to the other side. "In...and out."

Grub watched this last part of the procedure closely. He _really_ did not like this doctor.

"Excellent, as usual," the doctor complimented. He placed a hand on Vinyáya's knee and squeezed. "Hold still for a moment, please."

Grub really, _really_ did not like this doctor.

Ginko lifted his hand off, tapping a few buttons on the side of the bed. He stared at the weight readout, then made a note on his tablet. An array of other standard tests came, mostly unobjectionable, though Grub frowned when the doctor pricked Vinyáya's finger and took a few drops of blood into a small tube. Following this was a blood pressure screening, a reflex test, and a quick look into Vinyaya's mouth and nostrils with a rather bright light.

When Dr. Ginko gingerly pinched the tip of Vinyaya's ears to hold her head in place while he looked inside the ear canal, Grub's clenched fingers began to scrape along the bumpy plastic underside of his chair.

Vinyáya glanced at him, eyebrows raised, while her doctor switched to the other ear. She mouthed "What?", but got no response from her sullen companion.

The doctor switched off his light, the loud click filling the room. "All good on the topside, my dear. Now...up you go." He patted at a spot further up the exam table.

Vinyáya forgot about Grub's reaction and glared at the oven mitts. "13,000 years ahead of the Mud Men in in civilization, but we don't have any _better_ way than this, doctor?"

Ginko, who was busy putting on a pair of plastic gloves, smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid that sometimes the simple ways are the best ways. Unless you want to ask that Foaly chap to build a little robot to do this?"

Vinyáya shuddered. "No, no. Fine." She pushed herself up the table, then paused, remembering Grub. She bit her lip, obviously about to say something. She even opened her mouth a few times, but nothing came, so she instead flopped back on the table and put her feet in place.

Grub almost fainted. _That_ was what the metal arms were for? He looked at the ceiling, humming a little tune, trying to preserve some of Vinyáya's privacy. Not that he hadn't seen..._that_ before, but...well, he saw it under very different circumstances.

Grub had nearly collected himself when he heard the doctor's chair moving, his ears triangulating just exactly _where _it was moving with little difficulty. "Now, this will be a bit cold," the old elf murmured. "And you might feel some scraping, maybe a little pinch. Just remember to relax."

Vinyáya gasped and cursed softly, the paper sheet under her crunching as she sunk her nails into the examining table.

Grub _really fucking hated this doctor_.

Luckily, Vinyáya made no more distressed noises, though the underside of the doctor's guest chair now had a deep set of grooves and Grub would have a nice scar on the inside of his cheek until his used a bit of extra magic to finish healing the wound he got keeping himself in check. With a final set of loud snaps, the doctor removed his gloves and tossed them into the trash. "All looks well, Miss."

Vinyáya sat up, wincing, and did not cross her legs again. "My cervix is competent, then?"

Ginko stared at her. "Your...what?" He tried to retain a polite doctor's tone, but utter confusion managed to sneak in.

Vinyáya pointed an accusing finger at Grub.

"It was in the book," the young elf muttered, not bothering to mask the glare he lay on the doctor.

"Hmmm," Ginko mused, holding out his hand, "you have it with you, I presume?"

Grub nodded and rooted about in his messenger bag, handing over the thick volume.

Ginko stared at it. "A Mud Man pregnancy book?" He was squinted at the pages. "You read English?"

"Yes," Grub said. "All of the LEP was required to learn after the Fowl siege. It's simple enough. You just learn how to pronounce the letters, then you say them in your head and the Gift of Tongues translates it for you. Chinese, now...that's a hard one."

"Hmmm." Grinko handed the book back and leaned back in his chair, surveying Grub. "I'm afraid I never learned. So, tell me, what exactly is concerning you?"

What followed was a three-hour barrage of questions (and answers from Ginko) on everything from the competence of Vinyáya's cervix (quite up to the task, Ginko was sure) to possible radiation from LEP equipment (a matter to be brought up with Foaly, but unlikely to be an issue, given the People's rigid nuclear safety standards), and finally to the health risks of eating a variety of insects.

"I mean," Grub sighed, thinking of all of the dishes he made with mealworms, "if _sushi_ is a bad idea, then insects are surely..." He ground to a halt, looking between Ginko and Vinyáya, who were staring at him. "What?"

"The People have been eating from among _arthropoda_ and the like for millions of years. You don't think we've...oh..._adapted_ to them, by now?" Ginko said, finally letting blandness take over his cultivated physician's voice, along with his face.

Grub sulked. "I was just concerned..."

"Mr. Kelp," Ginko said, standing and offering a hand to Vinyáya, helping her to her feet. "Pregnancy and childbirth are among the most automated of life's events. So long as Ms. Vinyáya remains well fed and out of danger, things will progress with few difficulties to the fetus. If anything is going to go wrong, there is little we can do about it, at present.

"Now," he reached into a drawer and took out a small cup, handing it to the woman. "You know what to do."

Vinyáya glared at the cup for a while. Then she snatched it out of the doctor's hand, storming out of the room. Halfway out, she remembered the design of her current outfit and rearranged the back.

It was, of course, a bit too late for that. Grub was red to the tips of his ears as he followed the doctor back to his office, trying to not look over his shoulders. To keep himself occupied, he look around the walls, reading the plaques on various trophies, all topped with the same figurine: a gold elf in the middle of swinging a gold club. There was even a pair of crossed clubs hanging behind the doctor's desk, akin to the swords of a coat of arms.

Ginko put the thin tube of Vinyaya's blood into a machine about the size of a loaf of bread, flipping through the results. Next, he put another small vial in, though Grub was unsure where this had come from. He suspected it was a sample taken during the more distressing part of the exam.

Vinyáya came in not long after, back in her blue jeans and black pleather jacket, and slammed down her cup, now full of a bright yellow liquid.

Grub looked at this for a long while, then began to scoot his chair back.

Vinyáya sat in the chair next to him, rolling her eyes. "Compulsive," she muttered, just loud enough that only Grub could hear it.

Grub scowled, but said nothing, instead keeping a close eye on the sample. He only relaxed when the doctor took the cup and put it into his small machine.

Not long later, Ginko nodded, smiling. "Most excellent. Your nutrient levels are superb, Vinyáya. Really, I've not seen a mother with a more balanced system in all my career. Have you been consulting a nutritionist about what you should eat for the pregnancy?"

"No, I..." Vinyáya trailed off. She looked at Grub, who had the smallest of smiles. She scowled in return, and his face fell flat.

Ginko didn't notice this, merely going over the results further. "The CVS I took is promising, as well. We have a full genetic blueprint here, and I don't see anything wrong." He looked up at the parents, eager to do his favorite part of this type of meeting. "Would you like to know the sex?"

Grub's face lit up.

"No," Vinyáya said automatically.

Grub turned to her, squeaking, holding his hands out, palms up in confused supplication.

She looked back, challenging him to defy her. "I don't want to know."

After a few more choked noises, Grub slouched in his chair. He crossed his arms and refused to look at Vinyáya again.

Ginko wanted to slouch, as well, but he just went back to his readouts. No matter what the gender, the child-loving People always went nuts once they learned what to call their baby in place of "it." "Barring any adverse teratogenic influences, your child will have the correct number of toes, fingers, limbs, eyes, all that good stuff. In fact..." He flipped through the pages of data quickly, growing more impressed with every line. "Well, well. _Someone_ has good genetics. It looks like the only 'defect' your child will have is a moderate allergy to cat dander."

A tortured moan filled the room.

Ginko and Vinyáya stared at Grub.

"Can you..." he whimpered, eyes wide and filling with tears as he gathered his words. "Can you fix it? What if they want a kitty?"

Silence filled the room for a long time, only broken by the young man's distressed squeaks. Slowly, Dr. Ginko turned to Vinyáya.

"Get him the hell out of my office."

"Gladly," she muttered, rising and taking hold of Grub's shirt collar. She dragged him out and back into the service halls without bothering to discuss further appointments. Once they were far enough along, she stopped, turning on him, still holding his collar so she could bring him close to her face. "What the _hell _was that about?"

"I just...I had a few concerns, okay?" Grub mumbled.

"Oh, really?" She snapped, hands on her hips. "An _hour's _worth of question? Anything you haven't addressed?"

"I...yes." Grub took a deep breath and, pointing back in he direction of the offices, announced, "I don't like that doctor."

Vinyáya stared at him for a long time. She unclenched her hands from the younger elf's collar, more letting him fall away (or even be flung) from her than letting him go. Very, very slowly, her voice even, she tried to reason with him. "Dr. Ginko is one of the best obstetricians in Haven, and he is _discrete_."

"Yeah, but he kept..." Grub stopped himself. Saying that a doctor in the middle of a exam was touching his patient would make him sound a bit paranoid.

Vinyáya was instantly sick of his sullen silence. "Look. Whatever your problem is, get over it. He is my doctor, and that is that."

"Yeah? And what if _I_ don't want him to be?" Grub challenged.

Vinyáya postured right back, taking a step towards him and holding herself straight. "Then tough shit! You shouldn't even _care_ about this!"

Grub also rose to his full height and, for the first time, he towered over his former partner, who had to tilt her head back to retain a proper glare. "Why _wouldn't _I care who is delivering _our baby_? It's not as if I'm going to get another _chance_ at this!" Grub shouted. A second later, he shrank back, looking at the ground. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to yell." Biting his lip, Grub let his eyes flick up, but could not bring himself to raise his head.

Vinyáya stared at him. Then she began to laugh.

Grub watched her, wondering if he should start running. Maybe, with all his training, he could actually make it to safety. Or at least to within easy reach of emergency services. It was a hospital, after all.

She shook her head slowly, still letting out small bursts of laughter. "I can't tell if you're going to be the best...or the worst father ever."

"I...thanks?" Grub said, tilting his head to the side, unsure if he was being complimented or insulted. This, at least, was a feeling he ran across quite often. It was sort of comforting, actually.

With a long sigh, Vinyáya settled herself. "Dr. Ginko is delivering the baby. Discussion: over." She began to walk off down the hall. "Come on. Let's go home. I'm starving. What's for dinner?"

Grub decided that a strategic retreat in regards to the obstetrician thing was in order, at least for the moment. He followed after his partner and looked to the ceiling, considering things. "I was thinking breakfast for dinner. Mushroom omelet and banana pancakes."

Vinyáya gave a little "mmmm" at this idea, looking over her shoulder at her roommate. "You have me half considering keeping you around, just to have my own personal chef."

Grub smiled brightly and stood a little taller.

"You know..." Vinyáya continued, smirking. "If you weren't such a total spaz."

Grub frowned, following close behind the strutting woman. He should have known better by now...

* * *

**Teaser: So this is my new freedom./ It's funny, I don't remember being chained,/ but nothing seems to make sense anymore./ Without you I'm always twenty minutes late./ Ever since you've been gone,/ the lights go out the same./ The only difference is...**


	13. The Only Difference Is

**Song: "The Lover After Me" by Savage Garden**

* * *

**Chapter 13: The Only Difference Is...  
**

**Week 9**

Lili surveyed her tablet, sucking on the end of her stylus. Her eyes moved faster than most would have guessed they could as she scanned over the tiny words, but she was somewhat glossy-eyed, obviously not interested in the words themselves. The lieutenant scratched at her temple with the stylus as she spoke. "Third article of the Convict's Rights Decree."

Grub stared at her, his vision similarly unfocused but not for a lack of interest in the subject. He wasn't interested in _anything_ at the moment, barring finding something nice and soft to lay his head on. Something nice and soft that wouldn't slap him, preferably. "Er...huh?" He wiped a line drool from the corner of his mouth.

"Third article of the Convict's Right's Decree, Grub! Come on!" Lili snapped her fingers in his face.

"Um...'all non-violent suspects are entitled to twenty minutes of monitored communications before they are placed in a holding facility, in order to perform any necessary legal and financial tasks.'" He blinked. "I think."

Lili popped him between the eyes with her stylus. "No, do _not_ end with 'I think.' You will _not_ write that on your test, so don't accidentally memorize it." She flashed through the materials and nodded. "Correct, otherwise. So, essay question: What does that mean?"

Grub stared at her.

Lili waited.

His head began to droop, eyes closing.

"Grub!"

"What!" He yelped, sitting straight, looking around for the danger.

Lili groaned, massaging her temples. "What does the third article of the Convict's Rights Decree _mean_?"

He blinked rapidly and yawned. "Er...we'll let suspects have twenty minutes to talk to someone?"

Lili didn't move for a moment, then breathed in sharply through her nose, rubbing even harder. "And why do we do that?"

Grub squinted, tilting his head to the side. "So they can...perform any necessary legal and financial tasks?"

Lili glared at him. "Are you even _trying_?"

Grub dug his hands into his hair and rocked, forehead thumping into the small table between them, getting the attention of the other officers in the cafeteria. "Yes! I'm just _tired, _Lili!"

"Well, no wonder," she drawled, pinching his wrists, taking them from the corporal's hair and flapping his arms back and forth to display the lack of musculature. He did not resist. "You've barely exercised since you got on a desk. You're going to be wiped out for a while longer."

More groans.

She sighed, putting his hand on the table and covering them with her own. "You'll get over it in a few days. Don't worry."

Chin resting on the table, Grub observed their hands. After a moment, he looked up to Lili's eyes. "Really?"

Lili took her hand away and ruffled his hair. "Really. You should have seen how tired I was when Holly first started preparing me for my test."

"How long did it take you to get to normal?"

Lili thought back, puckering her lips as she remembered. "Six months."

Grub whimpered, curving his arms around his head to block out the light. "Can I die now?"

Lili picked her tablet back up. "Not until I say you can."

"The women in my life...are sadistic bitches." Grub muttered, then tensed as he awaited a smack for his words.

"Eh," Lili muttered, flipping through the document to a new study point, "that's our job, Grub. Get used to it. List the ten standard privileges given to all non-violent inmates, and the period of time they may exercise each privilege."

"Bitches..." Grub did his best.

* * *

Once again, Grub was asleep the entire drive home, and then only managed to drag himself into Vinyaya's house through sheer force of will. He got far enough inside to sit at the dining room table and lay his head down, taking the wide view of the various condensation rings on the old stone table.

Vinyáya was, as per usual, ignoring him to the best of her ability. She had been as nonchalant as possible during the doctor's visit, but there is still something awkward about getting a womanly exam with someone besides the doctor in the room. Currently, she was in the process of surveying the last of Grub's prepared dinners, trying to decide what the little parasite in her belly was demanding of her. Finding that nothing was particularly enticing, though also not particularly nauseating, she pulled an unsliced loaf of bread out and began to search for a knife.

She found it. Very quickly, but quite by accident. Vinyáya hissed, backing away from the drawer and holding onto her wrist to help slow the gush of blood from her thumb, which had been cut open from the ball of her hand to the pad of her finger. "_D'ARVIT!_ What the hell!"

Grub was on his feet in an instant, by Vinyáya's side only another heartbeat later, calling out as he moved to her. "Put it under the sink!" He turned on the water and grabbed the wing commander's wrist, thrusting her hand under the cold water.

Vinyáya continued breathing in sharply through her teeth, though she was quickly getting her composure back. The cold water helped, dulling the pain enough for her to remember her healing magic. A veritable explosion of blue sparks shot across her hand, like a Fourth of July sparkler, closing the wound in a few seconds. Still, she kept her hand under the water, reveling in the cold, which seemed to wash away the memory of the pain as it also removed her blood in a thin pink swirl around the drain.

Gently, Grub turned her hand over, inspecting it to see if he needed to add in his own gift. The women of the Plaza were not known for managing their magic supplies very well. When he noted that the wound was gone, he rubbed his thumb along the thin scar. "Going to heal that?"

Vinyáya nodded and, with another short yet impressive series of sparks, the white line was gone. "That is...a _lot_ of magic."

Grub nodded, moving her hand about again, making sure the last of the wound and mark were gone. "One of my cousins had a kid a few years ago. She was sort of clumsy during the entire pregnancy, but she had some _massive_ healing magic. Apparently, you heal at double-time when you have a child to protect." He looked at Vinyáya and smiled, relieved that the crisis was over. "They didn't cover that in the book I've been reading, of course."

"Really? She looked away from his eyes and experimented with her _mesmer_ tones, finding that she had a few extra notes in the normal mix. "Huh...looks like my magic in general is on high."

"Huh?" Grub murmured, eyes lidded, thoroughly addled.

Realizing that, despite lack of eye contact, Grub had been hit by her tone, Vinyáya frowned. "Wake up, Kelp." She snapped her free hand in his face.

"In order to...perform any...necessary legal and..." Grub shook his head, eyes clearing up. "Sorry. Mind not trying that again while I'm around?"

"Yeah, no problem." Vinyáya reached up for the faucet. That was when she noticed that Grub still held her injured hand. She stared at the light grip. "Kelp..."

"Yes?"

"Let me go."

He stared at her, mouth slightly open, eyebrows furrowing. Then his noticed their hands and tore his away, burying it in his hair, little droplets of water running down his neck. "No touching?"

Vinyáya nodded. "No touching."

"Right." Grub looked at her hand again, then turned around, disappearing swiftly into his bedroom, ready to sleep all the way to the next morning. Studying be damned.

* * *

Grub groaned. She was so soft...that was the first thing he noticed. Softness, followed by her scent, which was a mix of vanilla and freshly-cut grass. He had no idea how she managed to get that scent, but he drank it in. Drowned in it. Like a Pavlovian dog, he would ache for her whenever she passed him in the hall, her particular perfume wrapping around him even as she never touched him.

At least not in the halls. In the sanctuary of his office, she melded to him. She wasn't the "Ice Queen" of the LEP. Not the hardened councilwoman. And...not his. Not really. But he could pretend.

Why she came to him that day, after all they had been through in the past few weeks, he couldn't understand. He didn't think she would want to come near him ever again, and had resigned himself to the idea. His body protested, sparking a skin-hunger that roared into life every time they brushed past each other in the halls. And, now, when she was here with him...alone and whispering, telling him she couldn't stand it, that she was wrong, could they please...please..._please_...?

He didn't need to be asked the second time. In fact, when she came into his office, like so many times before, he didn't need to be asked once. He wanted this woman. Every part of her. Parts he knew so well, parts she never let him touch, parts she never let _anyone_ touch. He breathed this in her ear and she nodded, and that movement sparked their hands to fly across each others clothes, making them disappear like they were particularly well-trained magicians.

And skin and softness and vanilla/grass and his name barely escaping her lips, but it was _his _name and oh _gods_ she had never said his name before, but he had imagined it so many times, his own personal fantasy. "Grub...Grub...Grub..."

He almost fell apart then, but he was well-trained. A good lover, and he knew it. There was no other way to keep her. Now, though, she was giving herself, and he held her tight, one arm around her waist, fingers digging into her hip, the other coming up to bury itself in her thick gold hair.

Grub opened his eyes. Blue looking back. Not dark grey. Blue. Not vanilla and grass. Chocolate and raspberry. Not cold silver. Warm gold. Pure and calling to him. Calling...calling...

Grub jerked awake, gasping. Had he...did he really...was that...? He sat up, accidentally making the covers shift across his body. He gritted his teeth at the movement, clutching at the mattress. Yes. He had dreamt that. There was no denying it. He _ached_.

But...it had been...she was...

His highly-sensitive hearing detached the sound of the front door's deadbolt being thrown back, even through the barrier of his own door. Perhaps the people on the other side were what had awoken him. They were being rather loud, in that obnoxious way that couples whispered when they are excited and think they're being stealthy.

As the door squeaked open, Grub finally began to make out what they were saying.

"—a lovely time. As usual. You are spoiling me, Aconite."

"Mmm...is it spoiling you if you deserve it?"

"Just be careful. You'll make me come to expect it."

"Then you will be right in your expectations."

A cessation of speech, accompanied by the whisper of cotton against satin, skin against skin, and words barely making their way out between lips, far too softly for Grub to understand. Then a few taps of shoe soles and high heels on tile.

A small inward breath. "Good night, Lope."

"Oh...I..."

"I'm sorry, it's late. I have work in the morning. I should have been asleep hours ago, really."

A very short groan. "Right, right. I just...you know." A little laugh. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I...it's late."

"When can I see you again?"

"The next Council meeting is tomorrow, so—"

"_Arnica_. When can I see _you_? I didn't just mess things up entirely, did I? I'm sorry, it was rash of me, I don't—"

"No! Not at all. Um...Saturday? I get off work at five."

"Excellent. I'll pick you up at seven. And I apologize for my behavior." Another of those soft brushes of skin. "But not too much. I won't lie, I _do_ want you. Very much."

"Mmmm...well...let me think about that for a while."

"Ah...excellent. I would like you to think about it a _lot_."

A soft slap, but not skin-on-skin, more likely to his chest, and not out of anger. A light reprimand, and her tone had a smile intertwined with it. "Good _night_, Aconite."

A final brush and heavy breaths, and his voice was softly muffled by proximity to her lips. "As good as it can be. Until Saturday."

The door creaked again, and the handle clicked. At first there were no more footsteps for at least a minute. Grub couldn't help but listen, body tense. Would she open the door again? Would she call out to him, ask him inside, and would Grub have to sit in his room and listen as they...as she...

As she called his name.

By the time Vinyáya sighed and began to move back to her room, Grub could no longer hear her. A pillow was wrapped around his head, held firmly in place over his ears. He curled into himself, taking in deep breaths on counts of seven, holding for another seven before breathing out. It made his head spin at first, but it kept ball in his throat from escaping, and Vinyáya did not hear him biting his lips to keep in all sound as she closed her bedroom door.

* * *

**Preview: I'm gonna break down these walls I built around myself/ I wanna fall so in love with you and no one else/ Could ever mean half as much to me as you do now/ Together we'll move on, just don't turn around...**


	14. Let the Walls Break Down

**I bought hibiscus sorbet, recently. It's actually quite good, once I got over feeling like a traitor.**

* * *

**Song: "Walls" by All Time Low**

* * *

**Chapter 14: Let the Walls Break Down**

**Week 10**

Vinyáya was accustomed to keeping secrets. It was one of the reasons she had been chosen to lead Section 8 on its founding over 500 years ago. It was also the cause of many of her problems, of course, but that was besides the point. Vinyáya kept secrets, and she kept them well. She not only had mastery over her most minute facial expressions, but had a surprising level of control over the more obvious involuntary reactions of her body. That was why it took Grub four weeks to realize that Vinyáya had morning sickness.

After a particularly intense round of partying, Lili Frond was running late to pick up her carpool-mate one Monday morning, and Grub was occupying himself with flipping through his Mud Man pregnancy guide, writing down a new list of questions to ask Dr. Ginko on the next checkup. Just as he was in the middle of reading about "pica," eyes wide in disbelief, tongue sticking out at the very idea, he heard what he had thus far missed when he left for work earlier than his roomie.

"Oh _noooo_," Vinyáya moaned from her bedroom. Then there was a thump as her feet hit the floor and she sprinted down the hall, past Grub's room, and into the back yard.

Grub look at his door, blinking. Moments later, he heard the distant, rhythmic sounds of gagging and liquid hitting the bowl of a toilet. "Oh," he said, eyebrows shooting up, and put his book down. Stepping into his slippers (which, in line with the general dignity of his casual clothing, were fuzzy penguins with enormous blue eyes), he followed after the wing commander, stopping a discrete distance behind her hunched backside. He looked about at the old cherry trees, which at least provided the backyard with plenty of privacy during this somewhat embarrassing moment. "So—"

Before he could continue, Vinyáya interrupted with an impressive stream of vomit.

Grub gagged as well, shoulders hunching, tongue curling out, and turned around to avoid the sight. When it seemed that she was done (or at least pausing to moan), he went on. "Morning sickness?"

"Go _away_," Vinyáya commanded, pulling her robe a bit tighter around her body. She had obtained a simple set of pajamas, but any bit of extra material between herself and her guest was appreciated. Especially when she was in such a vulnerable state, unprepared to see him at a time when he should have been in the car with Frond.

Grub shook his head, even though she wouldn't be able to see him. "You've been hiding this, haven't you?"

"I _said_," Vinyáya snarled, looking at him over her shoulder, her nails trying to dig into the porcelain and failing to get enough purchase to satisfy her need to claw something, "_go AWAY!_" That outburst proved too much. She turned back to the bowl and spewed once more.

Muttering about stubborn women, Grub disappeared into the house, but was only gone long enough to obtain a glass of water, a towel, and a stray hair tie. He got as close to the sick woman as he could without touching her, handing over the scrunchie first.

Without a word, Vinyáya gathered her hair into a loose ponytail and secured it, glad she hadn't soiled it during her internal upheaval, like she had last time he was witness. Then she accepted the glass of water, swirling it around her mouth. This proved a mistake when the water brushed the back of her throat and she addressed the toilet, spitting out water and more acidic stomach juices. There was no longer any food in this, at least, but that meant she was tasting the full, bitter force of her bile, which caused her to continue heaving for nearly a minute.

Wincing and breathing through his nose, Grub sat cross-legged at the entrance to the lounge, waiting for her to settle before offering the water again. "So...how long has this been going on?"

Vinyáya, apparently deciding she was done, slammed the toilet lid down and leaned on it, ignoring the smell, which was being swiftly borne away by flushing water and spritzing deodorizers. "I don't know. A few weeks." She stuck out her tongue, wiping it on the damp section of the towel. She began to consider purchasing a tongue scraper.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Vinyáya waved a hand about to indicate the out-building. "Do you really want to have a heart-to-heart in the recycling lounge?"

Grub jabbed a thumb behind them, towards the house. "Do you want to go into the living room and puke on the couch? I could get you a bowl, but I am _not_ cooking with it again, if you do."

"...point taken." Vinyáya said. After successfully swishing some water about her mouth, briefly lifting the toilet lid to spit it out, she deigned to speak. "It's just morning sickness. I can handle it."

"So...you handle it by puking?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm _pregnant_, Kelp. I understand it comes with the territory."

He looked down at his clasped hands, frowning. "Maybe, but...I want to help."

"Help?" She tapped her hand on the side of the toilet bowl, trying to look as casual as possible. She liked having firm territory whenever she spoke with someone, and if that meant she took full possession of the recycling lounge, she could do that. "What can _you_ do to help me with _this_? Going to puke for me?"

Grub's eyes widened at the prospect and he shook his head. "I don't think that's even possible."

"...it's not."

"Oh." He blushed, lowering his head. "Right. I know that. I was just saying...."

"Shouldn't you be heading to work?" Vinyáya waved towards the front of the house, both indicating it and dismissing him.

He shook his head, squirming in an attempt to further secure himself to the ground, in case she took more direct measures to remove him. "Look, I've been reading a lot, right? Maybe I've read something that will help."

"Oh, certainly," Vinyáya guffawed, getting even more comfortable. Her stomach was beginning to settle, but she didn't trust it quite yet. It always cleared up by the time she left for work (though she had once been forced to stop on the side of the road for a few dry heaves). "What great wisdom have you obtained about the secrets of pregnancy?"

Grub glared at her, but soon went deep into thought, brows furrowed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're eating pretty well, but...I read eating something small when you wake up...."

Vinyáya growled at the very idea.

Grub scooted back a few centimeters. "Or not. You could eat something late at night, instead. Something that will stay with you through the night."

Vinyáya poked her expanding belly. "Oh, like I haven't been chowing at all hours already. Try again."

"How about...reducing stress?"

"I'm not stressed." Vinyáya said, shoulders shaking once with silent mirth at the very idea.

Grub's eyebrows shot up at this. "You're the Wing Commander. How can you _not _be stressed?"

She flipped her hand lazily in the air. "Been doing it for a few hundred years, haven't I? You get used to it."

"Just because you're used to the stress doesn't mean it isn't stress. Maybe you could—"

Vinyáya pointed a warning finger at his face, narrowing her eyes. She said nothing.

"...or not. Not is good." He bit a knuckle, back in thought. "Oh! Accupressure!"

"Accu-what?" Vinyáya sneering at the idea, working out what it meant a second after she had responded. "Not a chance. I'm not going to do some ridiculous holistic junk."

"It's not ridiculous!" Grub defended, eager at the idea. "People do it for all sorts of problems! Dwarves swear by it."

"Oh, dwarves. I hear they have _great_ medical techniques, _especially_ for elves." Having decided that she was done humoring him, despite the possible return of queasiness, she pushed off on the seat and stood, stepping over his legs as she left the lounge. "I'll deal with this, Kelp."

"But—"

"I'll _deal_ with it," she exclaimed, clenching her fists. "I can take care of myself. I keep telling you that." She began to walk away.

Grub looked at the floor. He spoke softly, almost too low for her to hear. "And I keep telling you that you don't have to."

Her steps faltered for only a moment. Then Vinyáya was at the back door and heading in to prepare for the day.

Grub heard a loud, familiar horn from the street. Sighing, he stood and walked out the side gate, joining Lili for their ride to Police Plaza.

* * *

Grub adjusted his thick-palmed gloves, looking first forward, then at Lili and Holly, who stood off the side of the blue exercise matt, watching him. "Er...are you _sure_ this is the course? It looks...hard."

Holly, who had been wrangled into helping for the first few minutes of this exercise, rolled her eyes. "_Yes_, I'm sure it's the course." She painted towards the wall behind a long line of obstacles, including extensive stairs, zip lines, moats, extremely tall ladders, low ropes for tightrope walking, and other challenges. "See the sign that says 'Captain's exam course'?"

Grub glanced at a large sign adorned with bright red letters, as well as the dual silver acorns of the captain's rank. "Yes...."

"Then, yes, this is the course." Holly glared at Lili, tapping her foot rapidly. "I know I said the paperwork thing was worth it, but this is a waste of my time."

Lili, who—like everyone in the gym—was clad in baggy green exercise pants, though topping off with only a black sport's bra (Holly and Grub, being a bit more modest, wore fairly tight black shirts), waved at her boss in a manner that most officers would have found detestable in a subordinate. "Give him a chance. He's made a lot of progress." She focused back on Grub, picking up the whistle on a lanyard around her neck and holding it near her mouth, preparing a stopwatch in her other hand. "Ready?"

Grub crouched, one leg stretched far behind him, the other tucked under his body. He held himself up with splayed fingers and stared down the first obstacle: a brick wall twice his height. He had to wonder how pixies managed. He was one of the tallest fairies he knew, and it didn't look promising. "Yep."

With no further pause, Lili blew the whistle at full-force, making Holly wince and lean away.

Grub sprang forward. Of all the things he was prepared for in the test, running was at the top of his list. After all, it was the only thing he had done consistently for the past ten years (and, some might say, for his entire life).

However, _jumping_ was not something he did that often.

Grub slammed into the wall, nose squashed in an instant, though luckily not breaking. The tips of his fingers managed to catch the lip of the wall, and he hung there, a meter or so off the ground, not moving. He wanted to figure out a dignified way to start over.

"Keep going!" Lili cheered.

"D'arvit," Grub lamented, obeying the woman by shifting his hands to get a better grip. Once he felt secure, he began to lift himself up, getting his legs under him and seeking toe-holds in the brickwork. After an intolerably long period, he managed to get his forearms under himself, legs fully extended to make his body a triangle against the wall. He _knew_ he looked ridiculous and hoped no one in the gym had brought any sort of camera today.

He was just pausing for a break when he felt his body slip. "Oh...balls." Grub found himself unable to react as he fell away from the wall, arms scraping on the bricks before he crashed to the ground. He completely forgot to spread his arms behind him to take off some of the pressure, and he cried out as his spine took the full impact.

Holly smacked her forehead. "Lili...I don't want to be cruel, but I think your time is better spent stalking me instead of helping him." She looked to her side to give further orders, but found herself lacking one blond. "Lili?"

"Grub!" Lili shouted, dropping to her knees his side. She looked him over, but was satisfied to see no major damage, thanks to the safety padding. "Gods, that was...." She poked him, making sure the groans were not from any internal damage she couldn't see, but soon realized it was his customary exaggeration and complaining. "That was...."

The corporal looked up at his mentor, eyes unfocused. He waved. "What's my time?" Then he looked at his scratched arms. Grub frowned. "I'm bleeding."

Lili took his hand between her own, donating a few healing sparks. "That was," she shook her head, grinning, "the funniest thing I've seen all week. Come on. Up." Healing soon over, she stood, pulling the man with her.

He complied, unsteady at first, but gaining some equilibrium after bracing himself with a hand to the woman's shoulder. However, he was not _quite_ right, looking at Lili and asking again: "What's my time?"

She laughed, leading him back to the starting point. "Let's just say you're not passing _yet_. Another go, okay?"

"O...kay." He nodded, crouched, and glared at the wall. He was not going to take shit from brick and mortar.

Lili trotted back to Holly, trying to look serious. As if this utter failure was normal for any officer preparing for the test, and should not be considered a portent of doom.

Holly was, understandably, not convinced. "He's not going to make it, Lili."

Lili paused, whistle held between her lips. Slowly, she turned her head to glower at Holly. She spoke around the plastic. "Oh, he'll make it. I'll _make him_ make it."

Holly was not one to be intimidated, least of all by someone who fetched her lattes. "I don't see—"

_Fweeeeeeeeet!_ Lili again blew the whistle at full volume, making Holly lean back, covering her ears.

Grub sprang forward, legs pumping twice as fast, now. This time, he measured the distance between himself and the wall, shortening his stride a meter from the face, legs tightening under him, and sprang. His hands got an easy grip, and he even landed high enough to hold his elbows at a square angle, chin catching on the lip of the wall. With a strangled cry, Grub pulled himself up, feet scrambling for grips to help him the rest of his way, and straddled the wall. He looked down the far edge and grinned, transferring the look to Lili, throwing his hands in the air. "I did it!"

Lili smirked at Holly.

Holly raised her eyebrows and leaned sideways to whisper at her secretary. "You know...he wont pass if he just sits on the first obstacle the entire time."

Lili's eyes went wide and she turned, shouting at Grub. "Go! Gogogo!"

He stared at her, hands slowly lowering as his triumph diminished. Suddenly, he jolted, remembering what he was doing. Pushing off from the top of the wall, the student landed running, off towards the next obstacle.

Holly shook her head. "I still say this is a waste of your time."

Lili shook her head, smiling as she examined the stopwatch, noting what obstacles Grub would need the most instruction on. "No...he isn't."

* * *

Lili put Grub through the obstacle course for two hours, only stopping when he fell over sideways while waiting for her whistle to sound again. After making sure that he was useless, she congratulated him, told him his progress ("You managed to finish the course three times! Excellent! Just...nowhere near the time needed to pass."), and went off to find the elder Kelp, who dragged his little brother into the showers until he had enough hot water blasted on him to straighten out. Then Grub sat down for the _rest_ of his shift, which he spent on his memorization and Short's paperwork. At least Fowl and Foaly weren't depending on him, though he was sure their previous arrangement would kick in again once the test was over. Once more, he was asleep for the ride home, and thus did not notice Lili's wide grin and happy humming.

Vinyáya, accustomed to barely seeing the studious elf, thought nothing of not seeing him for the rest of the day, though she lamented having to eat leftovers. In fact, she barely thought of Grub that day, and she _certainly_ wasn't thinking of him the next evening when, like clockwork, her insides decided to become her outsides.

During what she knew was merely a pause in her regurgitation, rather than the end, Vinyáya stood to wash her face at the lounge's sink. That was when she noticed the box.

It was just cardboard, but there was a slip of paper sticking out of the gap where the lip folded down, displaying the word "Vinyáya" in blocky letters. She stared at the cube, wondering how it had arrived there. Then, remembering the only logical source, she leaned back, looking out of the lounge doorway to see if Grub was waiting in the garden, about to explain. Remembering that he had left on time that morning, the wing commander returned to the box, staring at it for what was actually an impressively long time, considering she should have soon returned to vomiting.

Realizing she wasn't going to get any answers from a person (unless she gave the man's cell a call, and that was_ not _happening), she flipped open the lid and looked inside.

The box contained only a few items: a bottle of mouthwash, a plastic cup, several hair ties, and a small plastic box. She picked this last item up, looking through the see-through bottom, trying to figure out what the yellow circles inside were. She then held it at arm's length, tilting her head as she realized there was another note on the top.

_Sniff it._

She rolled her eyes. There was _no way_ she was going to do that without a better explanation. She flipped the taped-on piece of paper back, wondering if there was more.

_Don't roll your eyes at me. Just try it_.

Vinyáya blinked. Again, she leaned back to make sure Grub wasn't secretly watching her reaction. Then, shrugging, she flipped the lid off and brought the box to her nose. It smelled...sweet. And _very_ strong. Vinyáya winced, preparing to make a dive for the toilet.

Instead, her stomach rolled over once and went flat.

Vinyáya looked down at the medallions, not sure what had happened. After a moment, she poked her belly-button, and, finding there was no reaction, studied the box again. She gave it a longer sniff, trying to place the scent. A spice...she knew it...ginger? Picking up a sliver between her nails, she nibbled. Yes. Ginger. Tasting it seemed to ease her stomach even more than smelling had.

Vinyáya smirked. _Well...he actually does know what he's talking about. Sometimes. _Taking advantage of the rest of the care package, she cleaned her mouth of the taste of acid. Pocketing the ginger, Vinyáya made to leave the lounge.

Before she got far, she paused. Gradually, like a soldier inspecting the area for enemies, she returned to the sink. She picked up one of the hair bands, letting it rest around her fingers, which she spread to stretch the elastic and fabric experimentally. "Hmmm...."

* * *

"I'm gonna die, Lili," Grub insisted, backing away from the starting line.

"No, you're _not_," his coach insisted, pushing him back into position. He was getting stronger, but she still had a little more power behind her from preparing for her own exam. "Stop being so melodramatic!"

"I'm not being melodramatic! I can barely _move_." He raised an arm, as if to illustrate this. His muscles had lost most of their elasticity, making his movements as jerky as an ill-oiled robot. "Just give me a day off, please!"

Lili shoved harder, trying to make her self-appointed charge crouch so he would be able to sprint properly. "You don't _have_ a day! You need to train every day if you want to pass, and that means _today!_" Finding him uncooperative, she kicked the back of one of his knees, satisfied when he sunk to the ground. She was less pleased as he tried to stand again, and solved this problem by the easiest means she could find. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, the lieutenant attempted to wrestle him into position, straddling his back and growling fiercely. "I am _not_ putting up with your shit, Grub!"

"Ah...admirable," a thickly-accented female voice called from behind them. "Though I would like to point out that you are already doing so by helping him in the first place."

Lili and Grub both blushed, whipping their heads about to see Wing Commander Vinyáya approaching, looking down at them with a self-satisfied smirk. Lili blushed over the position she found himself in. Grub blushed over what Vinyáya was doing.

She looked over the obstacle course, frowning. "Really? This is all you have to go through to become a captain? Standards certainly have fallen." She ran her fingers through her hair, gathering it high on her head, where she secured it with a black scrunchie, pulling it through several times until her hair was shining and tight, leading out to a prominent ponytail before falling towards the floor in one thick rope. "Pathetic, actually." She stopped at Grub's side, crouching down to a runners posture, staring down the wall.

Grub opened his mouth to protest, but was far too late. Vinyáya sprang, tearing towards the wall. In one smooth bound, she landed on the wall with her arms bent under her, flipping her body over the edge without a look back.

Lili glared in the out-of-sight officer's general direction. She didn't need someone else taunting Kelp. Vein was doing that well enough on his own whenever he showed up in the gym. "Just ignore her, Grub. She's being—yipe!"

Grub sank to the ground, pulling one leg under his body, the other ranged out as far back as it would go, holding himself up with outstretched hands. "Oh!" he said as Lili settled on his back and gasped, looking over his shoulder at the jostled woman, who still rode him like a horse. "Sorry. Are you okay?"

Letting go of his neck, which resulted in her sliding down Grub's back to crouch behind him, Lili nodded. "No worries." Then she noticed the male's ready position. She quirked her head to the side, eyebrows raised. "Ready to go, then?"

Grub nodded, focusing forward again, body tensing down. "I'm not letting her get away with that."

Laughing in approval, Lili scooted away from the suddenly determined elf. Taking a cross-legged position on the sidelines, she brought the whistle to her lips and blew.

Grub leapt after Vinyáya, eyes narrowed to slits as he prepared to attack the wall, but he was still smiling.

* * *

**Preview: You and I left our troubles far behind,/ but I still have just one more question on my mind./ For all my pals who live in the oceans and the seas,/ with Fronds like these well, who needs...**

**

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-points to lyrics- I will say it with the next chapter, too. Do _not_ blame me for that pun. It's just in the lyrics! I only added the capital!  
**


	15. With Fronds Like These

**I apologize for the _horrible_ joke in the chapter title, but blame Owl City. It's part of the lyrics, and just _too good_ to resist.**

**Also, can you imagine how friggen _good_ fairy video games are? And how gory they could be, especially since the demons came along and added a little more bloodlust into the population?**

**And I apologize for the lyrics to "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" (which the obsessed may remember as Holly's old ringtone, from back in _Fowl Ties _chapter 3..."the obsessed" being me). I'm not a master lyricist, but I also didn't want them singing Mud Man music. There's enough of that here.**

* * *

**Song: "The Bird and the Worm" by Owl City.**

**Chapter 15: With Fronds Like These...**

**Week 11**

Of course, morning sickness is not the only early pregnancy symptom, and it was certainly not the only one Vinyáya had to deal with. Among the many lovely things Vinyáya experienced were: excess saliva, heartburn, the beginnings of food cravings, headaches, and, of course, a growing belly, which was already starting to make her nervous. It she began to show too much, the LEP (or, more likely the media) would begin to ask some uncomfortable questions that would be all too accurate. The most annoying symptom, however, was the fatigue.

Vinyáya had always seen pregnancy as a rather passive activity. After all, no matter what you do (unless what you do is destructive), the baby is going to keep growing. She couldn't have been more wrong. Her body was hard at work not only changing itself, but forming a little half-Vinyaya. Besides food, the one thing it wanted the most for this new life was a lot of rest, and that meant the carrier (namely, the wing commander) would have to join it in said rest. For the first time in over a century, Vinyáya found herself falling asleep at work. She even nodded off in the middle of a Council meeting, and she was only saved from voting without any idea of what she was voting _on_ by the extended debate between Councilmen Gregor and Cahartez, which gave her the time to scan the notes and supply a wise "nay."

For the most part, no one noticed. Her secretary, Cirrus, seemed wildly enthusiastic about his charge's lack of initiative, often popping his head into her occupied office and returning to his chair to giggle in glee for fifteen straight minutes. After which he would peek again. Holly Short did seem to recognize her Section 8 boss's decline in missions, but that didn't bother her, as it allowed the major more time in the field, taking up the slack. Commander Kelp, of course, had an idea of what was going on, but he wasn't saying anything, and was duly (and discretely) shunting a portion of her workload elsewhere.

Predictably, it was Grub Kelp who couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. On one of their rare days off together, he kept watch on the clock, studying Vinyáya carefully when she appeared at past midnight, scratching her stomach and staggering in an uncoordinated, drowsy fashion as she entered the living room with a large bowl of cereal and her latest zombie survival title.

"I've been up for five hours," he said, putting a bookmark in the pregnancy tome and sitting up straight on the couch, crossing his legs to get them out of his host's way as she sat on the floor before him.

"That's nice," Vinyáya offered, frowning at the over-protective game packaging. She was still working off the last of her night's sleep, so her decision to gnaw on the corner of the game box—while not intelligent—was at least understandable. Though the growling was perhaps unnecessary.

"You were out pretty late for the Council." Grub went on, holding his hand out as an offer to take care of the box.

Vinyáya looked at his hand. "Governing you lot does take a lot of our time." She sunk her teeth back into the plastic coating, this time managing to get a canine into a folded corner, ripping the covering off like a velociraptor getting its first taste of game in months. She put the disc into her console and, as it loaded up and began to produce tortured screams and unearthly moans, she ate several mouthfuls of cereal as rapidly as possible, only pausing when her innards warned her that ingesting a _little_ ginger would not save her from becoming too adventurous with food this early in her day. She swallowed and closed her eyes, willing her stomach into obedience.

"I know it does," Grub conceded, looking at his book, as if it would help. Finding nothing there, he focused on his room mate. "Two jobs is a lot, even if you aren't pregnant. Don't you think you should...take a...." He trailed off as Vinyáya turned to glare at him.

"No. I really don't." She picked her controller up and pressed "start," and the screen responded with a woman sobbing, begging for help, her cries soon transitioning to screams of terror. Vinyaya's pupils dilated and she grinned, showing off all of her shining teeth. She scooted closer to the screen.

Grub backed into the couch cushions, feeling his skin crawl at the sound. That was some _very_ good voice acting. "Er...Vinyaya, I really thing you should consider taking some time off. You're putting a _lot_ of strain on yourself."

"No," she said, with the air of someone talking to a child in the middle of a tantrum (said tantrum occurring in the middle of a store, where the child could not be conveniently corrected without many suspicious glares from other shoppers). "I'm used to this. I've been in even more stressful situations than this, many, many times." If he only knew about her Section 8 work...well, that would likely lead to an utter meltdown on his part. The demon crisis was over, but there were still a surprising number of occasions when official (semi-safe) LEP channels needed to be bypassed, and those situations often involved something sharp, explosive, corrosive, or any combination thereof. Vinyáya and Holly affectionately called these missions "downtime," but even the confidant Fowl had some misgivings about them. And Kelp...yikes.

"This is different," the man countered, wincing as the violent officer finished choosing her character attributes, beginning a FMV with a man immediately being buried under a sea of the undead. _That can't be good for the baby...._ "You're used to some adrenaline, but nine months is a _long_ time. You need to get extra rest."

Vinyáya didn't turn from the screen, only flicking her eyes over to her ex-lover. "Kelp?"

"Yes?" he said, hopeful.

"Shut the hell up."

Sulking, Grub picked up his book and retreated into his bedroom for a bout of studying away from a massacre of the legions of Hell.

* * *

While Vinyáya was dealing with a growing weariness, Grub was blessed with the opposite development: after weeks of training, his body was adapting to the strain. He had developed a little musculature, though only enough to take him away from "gangly" and into "normal." More importantly for his social skills, he was no longer falling asleep during his carpool with Lili.

Sadly for Lili's pride, he decided to spend one last evening resting his eyes before telling Lili that he was able to stay awake. Thus, she did not know to avoid singing.

Grub cracked open the eye nearest to Lili and studied her. She was smiling, fingers tapping along to the drum beats, nodding her head so vigorously that her hair began to obscure her face, forcing her to pause and tuck it behind her ears every few choruses. Whenever they stopped in traffic, she would begin a subdued air guitar accompaniment, only saved from the ridicule of her fellow drivers by the fact that she had the convertible's roof up. "Don't ask, don't tell, this could be our secret. And if you want, I know we could keep it close, 'cause we're the only ones who should know about uuuuuuuus." She said the last in a slightly out-of-tune held note, but it was respectable, overall.

Grub vaguely wondered if what he was about to do was a bad idea, but not for too long. Otherwise, he might have decided against it.

"This is wrong, and you know it," she went on, inching the car through traffic. "But I'm right, and you know it."

"If you agree, then just show it," Grub supplied in a somewhat flat voice, eyes still mostly closed. Despite a carefully neutral tone, he was smirking. His plan to pretend that he was singing along in his sleep was going to fail utterly, but the other half of his plan was a smashing success.

"AAAAAH!!!" Lili screamed, slamming her foot on the breaks. Behind her, a long line of cars also came to an abrupt halt, accompanied by loud horns and inventive cursing. "Smashing success" at least did not include an actual collision, but many fairies would feel a little ashamed as they passed Frond and realized whose ancestor they had just insulted in a rather sacrilegious fashion.

"You're supposed to be asleep!" Lili screeched, edging the few centimeters away that she could manage in the confined space.

"What?" Grub coached his face to make sure he wasn't grinning. 'Innocent' was the look he needed to go for. "Who says?"

"I...you...." Lili's mouth flapped and two deep red circles appeared on her cheeks. At a taxi driver's less-than-polite request that she make her backside move (accompanied by some choice words about his opinion of her intelligence and sexual practices), she began to inch forward. "You were always asleep before!"

"Well...I woke up." He shrugged, finally losing the battle against a grin.

Despite all sensible driving advice, Lili was still staring at her passenger. When her peripheral vision caught sight of the cars in front of her stopping, she also hit the breaks, though much more gently this time. "Stop it," she muttered.

Grub tilted his head to the side. "Stop what?"

Lili poked his cheek, putting his face slightly out of alignment. "Grinning. You look like your brother."

Leaning back, Grub stared at her. Then he flipped down the passenger mirror, studying himself. "I don't see it."

"Grin," Lili prompted. When he did, she waved her hands in front of his mirror. "No, wait! Don't!"

Confused, Grub asked, "Why not?"

Head sinking between her shoulders, Lili returned to watching the road like a good driver. "I don't want you to look like Trouble."

Understandably confused, Grub frowned. Normally, he was encouraged to look like the commander. Or at least to act like him. All things considered, it was a wonder he hadn't developed an inferiority complex. The fact that he really _didn't_ want to get into the kinds of tricky situations that his brother routinely jumped into was one of the prime reasons he had escaped (major) mental issues. "Why don't you want me to look like Trouble?"

"Your brother is a jerk," Lili said without hesitation. At the stunned silence that filled the car, she jumped forward. "I mean...yeah, he's one of my best friends, but...well, he's a jerk." She shrugged. "You know what I mean."

"Uh...I think?" Grub wanted to defend his brother, but, he had to admit, Trouble had some bad traits, mostly involving the ease in which he jumped between beds and the difficulty he had getting into what anyone would reasonably dub a "relationship." Before he could adequately acquit his brother, Grub thought of something far more important. "Wait...aren't _I_ supposed to be a jerk?" He'd heard _that_ accusation enough.

Lili was blank for a moment. Then she blinked and looked at him. "Huh...yeah."

"Well...er...am I?" He played with the lap restraint of his seat-belt.

She held up her hand, index finger and thumb a small distance apart.

Grub sunk into his seat, crossing his arms.

"Oh, come on!" Lili pushed the man's shoulder, which didn't seem to help alleviate his mood. "Spend a few decades acting like the troll under the bridge, ready to eat anyone who disturbs your rest, and you can't blame the entire LEP for avoiding you!" When he did not lessen his disapproval, the woman squeezed his shoulder, trying to make up for the rough touch as well as the rough words. "For what it's worth you've been kinda fun for the last few weeks."

Now it was Grub who turned red, but he had a small, hopeful tweak in his lips. "Really?"

"...yeah." Sounding surprised, Lili gave another squeeze and returned her hands to the steering wheel. "...are you surprised, too?"

Grub laughed. "Oh, you have _no_ idea."

With the next good song on the radio, the elven love of music overtook them. Lili nervously went back to singing, and Grub joined in. Neither had a stunning voice, but they could mostly keep in tune, and both had a good memory for notes and lyrics. By the time they arrived at Grub's stop, both of their throats were sore (their voices may not have been good, but that didn't keep them from being loud), and Grub was back to feeling tired, longing for a nap before his night-time studies. Despite this, Grub smiled at Lili and didn't leave his seat right off, enjoying the silence. "So...same time tomorrow?" He tried for the "Kelp grin," just to mess with her, but explicitly attempting it seemed to sabotage the move.

Lili put the pad of her index finger to her lips. "No...I don't think so."

Grub shrunk in his seat. "Lili, I—"

"Oh, shut up!" She giggled, ruffling his hair with both hands. "Stop...being...so...stupid!" She leaned over his lap, grabbing the passenger-side handle and pushing the door open. She swiftly unclasped his seat-belt and proceeded to shove the unbalanced man out. "Go! Leave, you dork!"

"Okay, okay!" Grub laughed, barely managing to maintain enough balance to avoid falling, though he did not look very graceful as he did so. Turning back towards the car, he went back to his earlier concern. "You're still picking me up tomorrow, right?"

Lili thumped her forehead on the recently vacated passenger seat. Without looking up, she wiggled her fingers in a goodbye to Grub and grabbed the door handle, slamming it closed.

Grub waited until Lili drove off, watching her all the way to her turn at the corner. Swinging one leg out, he turned and walked to the front door, entering with a cheery "I'm home!"

He was greeted by a disgruntled moan.

Pausing, one foot in the air, Grub turned his head to the living room. The television was on, with the all-too-familiar sight of decaying armies on the screen. However, what was _uncommon_ was that they were filling the screen entirely, with a dripping, blood-red "GAME OVER!" sign on the screen.

Just visible through the door was a thin-boned hand, formerly in possession of the game controller, but now laid out limply on the ground, twitching.

Grub felt his heart stop. "Vinyáya!" Adrenalin flooding his system, brain racing to remember where the house phone was kept, he rounded the corner into the living room.

"SNNNNNNNNNNRK."

Once again, Grub paused mid-step, giving himself time to fully take in the scene before him.

Vinyáya was lying on her side, one arm (the one with the controller) fully outstretched above her head, the other draped over her eyes. She was already in nightclothes, and her mouth was hanging open, her snores filling every corner of the room. Every so often, she twitched, smacking her lips and frowning. Then she was back to buzz-saw level breathing.

Slowly, afraid any further noise would finally succeed in waking her, despite the fact that she had managed to sleep through his yelling, Grub put his foot down. He studied the woman, smiling and shaking his head. He _had_ warned her, after all, but would she listen...? For a brief moment, the male considered waking his housemate and urging her to bed, but decided against the plan. He knew her well enough. She would as likely stay awake just to spite him as actually go to bed. So, moving with as much stealth as he could muster, Grub went into the hall, coming back a few moments later with a spare pillow and blanket from the linen closet. He placed the pillow in front of Vinyáya's face, careful to keep it from touching her, but close enough that she would brush against it if she moved. Holding his breath, he unfolded the blanket and let the bottom touch the floor at Vinyáya's feet, leaning forward to lay the rest over her body. Lunging forward like a ice skater, he hit the power button on the TV and remained poised over Vinyáya, praying that she wouldn't react to the loss of tortured moans and bright light. Then he jumped back, landing cat-like, and darted into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Vinyáya did not stir for quite a while. When she did, it was only enough to encounter the pillow, which she grabbed, tucking one half under her head, hugging the other end, all without waking up. She would be sore in the morning, but she remained warm all through the night.

* * *

**Preview: There's so much time/ to figure out the rest of my life,/ and you've already got me coming undone./ ****And I'm thinking _two_ is better than one.**

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**Mmm...super-excited about the next chapter. More of Doc Ginko!**


	16. Baby, Two Is Better Than One

**TWO SUPER-IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENTS!!!**

**1. The podfic of **_**Like I Like My Coffee**_** is done! I'm waiting for the website Audiofic to get back to me, for permanent hosting, but I have a temporary host for anyone who wants to download it. Go to my profile and click on my homepage link to get to the podfic. Eventually, it should be on Audiofic, and then I'll go back to having an utterly useless home page link that you can ignore to your hearts content.**

**2. The next chapter is my **_**utter, hands down, can't-even-explain-how-much**_** favorite chapter. And I want to share it quickly. But I am also an inherent review-whore, and have been trying to retain a 11-review average. So...if you all can get the reviews up to a 11-per-chapter average, I will post the SECOND I see that average. Okay?**

* * *

**Song: "Two Is Better Than One" by Boys Like Girls (featuring Taylor Swift)**

* * *

**Chapter 16: Baby, Two is Better Than One**

**Week 12**

Vinyáya may not have been excited about the pregnancy, but she was at least responsible about the entire affair. Not responsible enough to immediately step down from Section 8 or join Grub in reading everything she could get her hands on, but enough to schedule regular visits with her doctor. Thus, four weeks after her initial meeting with the physician, she readied herself for a second check-up.

She made the terrible mistake of mentioning it to Grub.

He, predictably, had latched onto her until he got guarantees that he would be brought along. She assured him that it was just a normal checkup and ultrasound, but that did nothing to deter him. In fact, saying "ultrasound" was exactly the wrong thing to say, as Vinyáya soon realized. The corporal's eyes had gone wide at the magic word and he asked, breathless, about what data storage device he should bring to record the event. After she informed him that a) she did not know and b) she did not care, Vinyáya had gone off to her bedroom to get a good sleep.

She awoke to find Grub sitting at the kitchen table, omelets and toast already laid out for them both, and a dozen different standards of data storage laid out. One was even a complete external hard drive (about palm-sized, but still), and another was a Mud Man micro SD card, which Vinyáya decided she did not want to know the provenance of. Books passed through customs with no protests, but there was far too much invasive software on human storage devices to be allowed on fairy systems.

Walking up to the jumpy male, who was looking between each device in turn, Vinyáya pushed forward a small disk. "This will do _just fine_. Besides, it can play in data tablets, so you can spend _hours_ crooning over the thing."

Grub looked up at her and grinned. "Thanks!"

Vinyáya rolled her eyes._ Sarcasm is lost on this one...._ Rather than continue conversation, she sat down and began to eat.

While she wasn't willing to talk, Grub certainly was. He didn't even touch his food, going on at a mile-a-minute about what his book told him about this checkup, wondering how it differed from a real fairy exam, asking her if they could _please_ find out the gender, and was the omelette okay? Because he didn't think he'd sauteed the onions long enough, and he really didn't like the taste of onions when they were undercooked, they were just too harsh.

"Kelp!" she finally shouted around a mouth full of food. Swallowing while he stared at her, the woman continuing before he picked up again. "I'd really rather not talk to you now, if you don't mind."

He looked at his orange juice, brows furrowed. "...you mean more so than normal?"

Vinyáya shot egg off her fork, hitting Grub between the eyes.

* * *

While Vinyáya lived almost on the opposite side of Haven from Police Plaza, nearly everything else she visited regularly was within walking distance, including her doctor's office. The trip wasn't long, so Grub was quite confused about why Vinyáya was walking so very fast, hands in tight balls at her side. He didn't comment, however, finding himself taking on an odd walk-jog gate to keep up with her. He was glad for his long legs in this moment, but they weren't quite good enough for the trip.

Once again, they took the back way in, and now Grub found himself actually jogging to keep up. The passages in the hospital were small, and too long a delay would allow the woman to disappear without a trace. He had no illusions about her coming back to get him if he fell behind. He managed the labyrinth with no incidents, and they were greeted in the brighter main corridor by Dr. Ginko, who was as cheerful as ever.

Until he saw Grub. "Ah. Mr. Kelp. How good to see you." He rocked back on his heels, as if already responding to a verbal assault.

Grub tried to smile reassuringly. He'd been reading fairy texts in addition to the human books. There were fewer questions this time. Fewer...but still some.

The doctor looked to Vinyáya, waiting for her to say that the man was just there as her escort, and he was _not_ being allowed back into the office. Instead, she impatiently asked which room she had to go in, at which point the doctor grudgingly opened a nearby door, waving them in.

Shocking Grub, Vinyáya surged forward, laying back on the slightly curved table without prompting, and hiked up her shirt. She snapped her fingers at the doctor. "Let's _go_. I don't want this to take any longer than it has to."

Both men stood at the door for a moment, looking at each other in silent male commiseration. At her further urging, Grub shrugged and handed over his disk. "Will this work?"

"Oh," the doctor said, still somewhat put off, but took the disk. "Yes, of course."

"Sweet." Grub grinned and entered the room, scooting the extra chair forward until he was at Vinyáya's side. He steadfastly ignored her glares. He was building up an immunity. Very useful.

The doctor was well-prepared, but he still putzed around for a few minutes, all while urging Vinyáya (who was jiggling one leg rapidly) to wait just a little longer. Her leg stopped jiggling when he said, quite casually, "I'll need you to undo your pants and pull them a bit down, please."

"Can't you just...do it here?" She ran a hand over her slightly expanding stomach, then poked it in a womb-ward direction.

"Do we need to go over female anatomy, Miss Vinyáya?"

She grumbled a "no," narrowing her eyes at Grub.

He looked to the ceiling and away, whistling. He managed to remain looking in the proper direction as he heard the sound of a zipper and shuffling. He even continued to keep his gaze away when the doctor informed her that she didn't need to lower her pants _quite_ that far, as this wasn't a transvaginal ultrasound, merely transabdominal. He would regret that restraint, secretly, but was proud of himself. Once she was pronounced decent, Grub tentatively looked down and tried not to blush. He'd seen her in less. A lot less. He was_ not_ going to get aroused.

It took him some time to realize that the fluttering in his stomach wasn't desire.

For just a little while, she wasn't scowling at him, and it was...nice. Almost like he would hope such a moment could be. The room was dimmed, to make viewing the monitor easier, and it softened her harsh edges. The woman was reclining on the hospital bed, white shirt lifted off her stomach and lower garments down just enough to help the doctor, without revealing anything too embarrassing. In between the clothes, he finally got a good look at her belly. Normally flat and ribbed, it was rounding out, abs disappearing as she gained padding. She had one hand on her stomach, and that was also where her gaze was centered, thoughtful. She apparently, didn't look at this very often, either.

"_Wow...."_

The scene was shattered as the doctor squirted clear goo low on Vinyáya's stomach. She gasped, backing up the bed. "D'arvit! That's _cold!_"

Chuckling, the doctor nodded. "Sorry. I find it's best to not make people over-anticipate that."

"I'd find it best if you would _warm up_ that junk!"

"Now, now," he soothed, clicking the monitor on and making sure the analysis programs were started. "It's just a moment of discomfort, that's all."

"No, I agree with her," Grub jumped in. "You should keep that warm, if you know you're going to be using it."

Ginko rolled his eyes all the way to the ceiling.

"Thank you, Kelp," Vinyáya said, nodding once at him.

He beamed.

She stopped being so kind when the transducer touched her, spreading the cold goo further. More cursing, though admittedly light, and now she was at least glaring at the doctor, instead of her former lover.

Grub was going to attempt to continue supporting her in her anti-chill stance, but was stopped when the first images popped onto the screen.

His heart did an odd, painful triple beat.

Leaning over, Grub put his hands on the edge of Vinyáya's bed, squeezing hard as he leaned over to get a better look, not caring if she disapproved of this move. His eyes darted across the screen, trying to work out the grainy, shifting image.

His mouth went dry at what he saw.

"Oh...gods...."

Vinyáya could feel the tension in his body, even though they were not actually touching. She felt herself respond in a similar manner, made worse by not knowing what his problem was. "What? What is it?"

Reaching one hand completely over her body, Grub traced the shapes on the screen. "Is that...is it...." He looked at the doctor.

Ginko looked back, eyebrows raised, not sure what the problem was. He'd barely had enough time to glance at the screen, too busy spreading the gel.

Swallowing, Grub went on. "Twins?"

Now Ginko was paying full attention to the screen, eyes wide. He leaned in, squinting.

Vinyáya closed her eyes, teeth grinding, and tried not to shake. "Oh, gods...."

Ginko began to laugh. With a slight motion, he adjusted the transducer. What appeared to be two globes was revealed to instead be two portions of one connected shape. Head and body. He moved the transducer around for a while, giving the parents a clear, three-dimensional view of the child from all angles, assuring them that there was only one fetus in residence.

Grub let his head hang down, breathing easily again. "Oh, thank Frond."

Vinyáya silently agreed, but did not make it known to anyone, having barely kept herself in check during the confusion. There was one party in this entire fiasco already freaking out at every opportunity. She didn't need to help him along. "All normal?"

With a few more adjustments, the doctor nodded. He began to trace the body, muttering more to himself than to his adult patients. "Head, chest, arms, legs...it should be developing individual fingers and toes, about now."

Grub nodded. He'd read that. "And nails."

Vinyáya rolled her eyes. "Great. You can go get a _fabulous_ mani-pedi together once it's born."

Both of Grub's hands were again on the edge of the bed, though no longer clenching the mattress, and he drummed his fingers on the padding. "Not sure I'd approve of that for a boy." He tried to appear nonchalant as he addressed the doctor. "Do I need to be worried about that?"

The doctor opened his mouth, but was stopped by Vinyáya's growl.

"I _told you_, I don't want to know!"

Grub turned on her, and now he was the one glaring. "You don't even care, so why does it matter if you know or not!?"

She leaned back into the pillow, the motion taking her stomach out of alignment, and the image of the child disappeared. The retreat was short-lived, and she surged back at him, making him back up twice as much. "Because I _don't want to know_ and it is _my decision_, okay?" She focused her bared teeth on the doctor. "Are we done?"

He held the transducer close to his chest, like a protective medical amulet, some of the goo getting on his smock, turning it a dingy gray. "I...I just need to check the fetal heartbeat."

In a flash, Grub was leaning over the bed again, now in the opposite direction, getting in the doctor's face and grinning like a mad-elf. The image was amplified by his ginger hair, which was now long enough to get in his eyes, making him resemble a recently released prisoner, though he lacked the stubble necessary to complete the image. "Heartbeat? Can I hear it? Please?"

"Of...of course. We all will." The doctor nodded, placing the transducer aside. He waited for the father to get tired enough to move away, then pulled out a device that actually quite closely resembled a portable speaker. One end had a small speaker box, while the other had a flat microphone. "Everyone be quiet, please. As you can imagine, this, is very sensitive."

Grub nodded and tried to coach his breathing into a reasonable volume. He wondered vaguely if his own heartbeat, which _surely_ must be loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, would interfere with the device.

Sighing, Vinyáya allowed herself to be subject to another prodding.

Never had the doctor had a greater fear that a woman's nethers would jump up and attack him. The wing commander was the sort of woman who inspired the term "vagina dentata." Still, he was a professional, so Ginko placed the mic on her stomach, pausing for the heartbeat.

There were some tense moments as he tried different spots on her stomach, frowning all the while. Just as Grub began to fidget, it came: a rapid thumping that sounded more like a tennis ball (or perhaps several tennis balls) being thrown at a wall than normal heart rhythms.

The doctor smiled.

Grub, for lack of a better word, melted. His lowered his head to rest on his hands at the edge of the bed, looking at Vinyáya's stomach. He could feel his heartbeat rising to match the baby's two beats per second, making his breathing come faster. It was an odd feeling, but pleasant. Very, very quietly, he whispered, "I've got to get me one of those."

"Oh, _gods_ no," Vinyáya moaned, fidgeting away from the device. "You are not coming at me with one of those things at all hours of the day." When Grub opened his mouth to protest, she jabbed a finger at his face. "You _know _you would."

His eyes darted away, silently agreeing with her.

Over-excited father duly reigned in, Vinyáya turned to the physician. "Are we done here?"

Still holding the mic out, though now a bit above her stomach, the reception turned off to keep everyone from being deafened, he nodded. "I do need to do bloodwork, of course, but the ultrasound is done."

"Wait!" Grub sat up straight. "Did you get a recording of the heartbeat? Can you do that?"

"Well—"

"We're _done_," she barked, swinging her legs off the table, forcing the young elf to back away. She stood, not bothering to clothe herself correctly (no sense gooing up her jeans) and looked at the doctor. "Where?"

He seemed to understand immediately, pointing down the hall. "To your left, third door."

"Excellent," she said and darted out of the room, looking highly relieved.

Grub watched her go, blinking rapidly. "What in the...?"

The doctor chuckled, wiping off his equipment. "First trimester ultrasounds have to be done on a full bladder."

Grub blushed as he realized exactly why the mother had just left. "Oh." He looked down and did his best to _not_ think about it. Unfortunately, thinking that you shouldn't think about something means that you automatically can not _stop_ thinking about it, so his face grew redder and redder with every passing second. He could feel the increase in temperature up to the very tips of his ears.

"Ah...." Ginko shook his head at him, still supremely amused at the out-of-his-depth young man. "Wondering why she was so irritable this morning, I'm guessing?"

"Um...." _Not really, no. _

* * *

"I don't like him," Grub grunted, kicking a stone on the sidewalk.

Vinyáya, who was walking a few feet ahead of him, but still within reach with a normal voice, responded with similar cheek, but directed at the officer, instead of the doctor. "He's delivered hundreds of children, Kelp. And he's discreet, so I wont be outed before I have to be."

Catching up the the stone, Grub kicked it again, pouting when it hit a divide in the sidewalk, ricocheting into the street. "I still don't like him."

"Tough," Vinyáya snapped, already growing to detest this conversation. "He's my doctor, and that is that. I'm not having this discussion again."

Grub pounced off the edge of the sidewalk, tapping the rock so that it arced in the air, landing back on the path. He smiled at this, jumping back on and continuing his herding. "Well...once everyone knows, we could pick another doctor."

"No," Vinyáya said, walking faster, still not looking back at him, "_we_ will not. For the matter, _I_ will not. I've better things to do with my time than hunt around for another obstetrician."

Grub missed his next kick, but did not go back to try again, merely looking over his shoulder in a forlorn manner. "My mother went to Doctor Nesset. She raves about that woman. Have you heard of her?"

Vinyáya grinned, now finally looking at him. "Oh, yes. The misandrist. Really, Kelp, if she's the better option, maybe I _will_ consider it."

Grub turned from his long-gone rock, eyes wide and smiling. "Really!?"

"Um...no," she said and hopped off the sidewalk, crossing the street to her house.

Grub stood on the other side of the path, sulking for a while before he followed.

* * *

**Preview: The city longs well for/ rooftops and invitations,/ all lace and secret places/ she moves you to touch/ with her hands./ And she just might get you lost,/ and she just might leave you torn,/ but she just might save your soul/ i****f she gets you and she, gets you any closer.**


	17. She Just Might Get You Lost

**Much love to Ru-Doragon for Trouble's pajamas. Even if I wish they didn't exist at all. ;P**

**Sorry if there was a minor misunderstanding with reviews. I meant 11-per-chapter overall. Still you did it! Yay!  
**

* * *

**Song: "Rooftops and Invitations" by Dashboard Confessional**

* * *

**Chapter 17: She Just Might Get You Lost**

**Week 13**

If there was one aspect of the captain's exam that Grub knew he was completely unprepared for, it was marksmanship. Up until two months ago, he hadn't picked up a gun in years, and even then he had never been a very good shot. It was here that the large majority of officers failed. Even Holly Short had nearly fallen afoul (no pun intended) of this, saved only by a loophole in the test wording. That loophole had long ago been closed, and now Grub was going to have to get through on skill alone.

"You are so fucked," Lili said, looking at his initial scores.

Grub hung his head.

"No, really." Lili panned through, tracing the line that marked his progress. It was barely rising. Clicking a few keys on the readout, she brought up a secondary line to show how he _should_ be progressing. It was less than promising, to say the least. "Utterly screwed. You _do_ have your eyes open during this, don't you?"

"I was never a good shot," Grub muttered, gently tossing his practice neutrino between his hands. Unlike the real models, this could only emit a bright light, which would be used to track his aim, though realism was added with a slight recoil, to mimic actual shooting. "I didn't exactly go out into the field that often."

Lili stepped back from the controls, shaking her head. "Grub...you were at the Fowl siege. _And_ in the middle of the B'wa Kell rebellion. Not to mention Koboi's escape. Didn't it ever occur to you that you're a flash-point for danger?"

Grub's eyes widened. "I...really?"

"Well...why not?" She leaned against the cubicle wall. "Excepting Root, Trouble, Vinyáya, and Holly, you've probably been in more danger than any other officer in the force."

Brow furrowed as he considered this, Grub scowled. "...how have I never been given hazard pay?"

Lili smacked her forehead. "You...utter...." She pointed one arm straight out, indicating the target range. "Shut up and shoot."

Still sullen, Grub complied, raising his arms and aiming.

"Wait, wait, wait!" The lieutenant cried in pain before he even got off a shot. "Oh, gods...what are you doing?"

Grub raised his head from the cradle he had made with his forearms. "Shooting?" He let the gun fall, scratching at his ears, wincing when he brushed his noise-cancelling headphones, letting in the sound of dozens of other guns going off at once.

"No _wonder_ you're terrible!" Lili proclaimed, snatching the gun from his hand. "You look like you're trying to be a Mud Man action star. Where did you learn to aim like that?"

Grub winced. "Mud Man action movies."

She stared. "You're...." She did not finish the sentence, quickly realizing that he _was_ serious. His love of human cinema was well known, so it made sense that he had learned more than a few bad policing habits from his favored flicks. "Okay...I need to break you of this. Watch." Turning to the firing range, she stood with her feet at shoulder-width, both arms stretched out in front of her, but slightly bent at the elbows. She tilted her head a fraction to the side, one eye closed, the other looking down the imaginary line between her eye and the sight. "Make sure to have your arms a little loose, so you can absorb the recoil, but not too loose, or it'll jerk back and smack you in the face." She held the pose for several seconds before tossing the gun back.

Grub fumbled it between his hands. "Don't the new neutrinos have less recoil?" He took her place in the middle of the cubicle, copying her pose as best he could.

"Well, yes. The difference between a bull troll charging and an adolescent. You're still gonna look like a moron if you get popped in the nose." She sunk to one knee, grabbing Grub's ankles and moving his legs a fraction further apart. She poked the back of his knee, and, finding that his legs bent, she grunted and slapped the front, locking his legs. A second poke found him strong, and she stood.

"I don't think I need to get hit in the head for people to think I'm a moron," Grub muttered, holding the pose.

Lili laughed lightly. "You have some major self-esteem issues, you know that?" She stood at his side, holding her chin in one hand, head moving up and down as she inspected the pose. Reaching out with one hand, she tapped the bottom of the gun, trying to move it into place. "Just a little...pah!" she cried out in disgust. "I _told you_, bend your arms!"

Grub raised his head, looking at her. "I _am!_"

"Well, I can't tell." She grabbed the top of the gun, tugging back to test his bend-ability. "You are going to dislocate a shoulder, or at _least_ fall over." She continued tugging, his arms going between utter rigidness to far too loose. "Come on, you're not _that_ dense. Just...oh, I give up!"

Grub started to put his arms down, head drooping. "Sorry, I just don't get it."

Lili stepped behind him. "That's not a good enough excuse." She put her arms out, grabbing his wrists and lifting him back into position. "Like I said, not too tight, not too loose." Briefly removing one hand, she tilted his head to the side, tucking her own in the other direction, allowing her to get closer, their cheeks resting together. Her hands slid up Grub's arms, training the gun at the firing range, pulling back on him a fraction, making his arms bend, but not collapse. "Think of...being a lead in dancing. You dance, right?"

Grub nodded, trying to control his heartbeat, cursing the automated muscle. Her head was far too close to his jugular and the pounding carotid artery beneath. She would _surely_ be able to feel that. "Some. Ballroom. Mother made Trouble and I learn when we were little."

Lili nodded, satisfied. "Well, if you're too loose with your follow, she'll do whatever she wants. If you're too tight, she doesn't know what you want to do. So...tell the gun what you want it to do."

"...not smack me in the face?"

Lili tittered. "Yes, that would be a good order. Now...." She paused, eyes darting to the side, finally catching Grub's deep red blush. She took one hand from the gun, lightly smacking him across the head. "Come on, don't make this a stereotypical romance scene. I'm teaching you, not seducing you."

"Oh, r-really?" Grub swallowed, feeling even more heat rise to his face. He made sure to look directly at the firing range. He was _not_ going to meet her eyes until he had some time to recover.

"Well, duh." Lili put her hands back into place, and smirked, the movement transferring from her lips onto Grub's neck. "When I seduce you, I promise you'll know."

* * *

The question was long-delayed, but it was bound to come up. After all, the subject had nearly been breached during the initial meeting with Dr. Ginko.

One day, Vinyáya came home late from work to find Grub splayed across her well-broken-in green couch, snoring like a lumberjack, a book open on his face to block out the light. She had rolled her eyes at him and walked back to her bedroom before something prodded her from the back of her mind. She came back, snatching the tome from his head and looking at the cover. "How did I forget about this...?"

Grub gave a last grunting snore, startled awake. He slitted his eyes open and, finding Vinyáya standing at his side, pushed himself onto the arm-rest, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes with two clenched fists. "Evening."

Vinyáya did not respond to the greeting, flipping through the pages, pausing every few moments to scan the text or inspect a picture. After about a minute of this, she tossed the book back, letting it fall on Grub's chest. "This is a Mud Man book."

Grub frowned. Picking up the book, he began flipping through the pages, trying to find where he had left off. The organization by weeks of pregnancy helped things, but he was still irritated at having to search.

"Kelp..._why_ do you have a Mud Man pregnancy book?"

Grub pointed at Vinyáya's stomach as he continued to flip one-handed through the chapters.

"Let me re-emphasize that. Why do you have a _Mud Man_ pregnancy book?"

"That's what I was given."

Vinyáya squeezed the bridge of her nose, dragging her hand back down until she put her fingers together, resting them over her mouth. She tapped it and breathed deeply. She must be logical about this. She could never pull off a perfect murder in these circumstances. That couch would absorb too much blood. "There is _no way_ you got that at a library in Haven."

Grub held up the book, turning it about to give her a clear view. "What clued you in? The lack of a RFID tag or the lack of system stamps?"

Vinyáya decided to ignore this. Ignorance was bliss, but being confronted with your blissful ignorance was rather unpleasant. "Where did you get that book?"

Grub, finding his place, smiled radiantly, slipping a metal bookmark between the pages. "Fowl."

Vinyáya felt two temperatures explode in her chest: the fire of rage and the ice of fear. Like in many magic fighting games, fire turned out to be more powerful than ice. "You told_ Fowl_?"

"No," Grub yawned, covering his mouth as he watched the woman.

"Then _how_ does he know?"

Sinking back down on the couch, Grub yawned, giving Vinyáya the time to work out things for herself. When she did not make any progress, he relented. "He's Artemis Fowl."

Vinyáya paused. Blinked. Chewed on her lower lip. "Ah...right."

Grub blinked back at her, very slowly, ending with his eyes still half-lidded. "Can I go back to sleep, now?"

"Would you mind going to your room?" Vinyáya ventured, looking over her shoulder at the entryway. "I have another date tonight, and...."

Abruptly, Grub snapped. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Vinyáya stared at him. "What?"

"I get that you don't want to be with me, okay?" Grub arose from the couch, taking the few steps necessary to come up against Vinyáya's face. "Whatever. But him? You _know_ not telling Lope about _this_," Grub thrust a finger at Vinyáya's stomach, "is going to end badly. Why are you doing it?"

Vinyáya took a step back, but merely to get enough space to bring the back of her hand up to her face. She began to laugh. "Wh-h-h-hy?" She could barely get the word out. "Why am I seeing him?"

"No! Why are you...why are you...d'arvit! Why do you have to treat _everyone_ like your fucking toy?" Grub shook his head before Vinyáya could even protest. "I got myself into this mess and I am_ trying _to deal with it, but Lope doesn't have a clue about what is going on. And the rest of the LEP? They're going to be blindsided by the news, especially when you finally take leave, so...why, Vinyáya? Just...why?"

"Why?" She repeated, putting her hand down. She took a step towards the man. "You want to know why I'm lying to everyone?" Another step, and now Grub had to move back, though he still glared at her. She was not glaring, though. She smiled in an almost sultry manner, a small laugh in her voice. "Why I wont tell Lope before everyone else learns?" Another step, and now Grub was looking behind him for just a fraction of a second, but enough to break his concentration. Vinyáya rolled her hips as she walked, a tigress on the prowl, with injured prey before her. "Why I don't want to tell anyone about _you?_"

Grub backed into the entertainment unit, the glass cabinets clattering. Realizing he was trapped before the advancing woman, his heart rate doubled and he stopped breathing.

"The deep...dark secret...." Vinyáya murmured, looking away from him, eyes closed, face crossed with pain. "The hidden part of my past that makes me...such a bitch?" She slowly turned her head back, eyes cutting into him. "Well...listen up...." Reaching out, she brushed his unruly hair away from one ear, leaning in to whisper. "There _isn't_ one. No childhood abuse. No sexual harassment. No denied promotions because I'm a woman." She pulled away, sweeping her arms to the side, drawing her entire house (and entire life) into the conversation. "Just _me_.

"Now mind getting out of sight?" She turned from her opponent, waiving his presence off with a flick of her hand in the direction of the bedrooms. "Like I said, Lope will be here soon. I'll try to get him out as soon as possible."

"Don't bother," Grub retorted, pushing off from the cabinetry and shouldering past the wing commander. "I'm leaving."

"Oh!" Vinyáya chirruped, looking at the clock. "Excellent. Will you be home tonight, or do I have the place to myself?"

"Vinyaya?" Grub ventured, taking a black hoodie out of the closet by the front door.

"Yes?" she sang, growing excited at the idea of having her house to herself for an entire evening. Perhaps she could make this a stay-at-home date...and those _always_ turned into something very interesting.

Grub pulled the sweater over his head until it overlapped his brown cargo pants. He grabbed his messenger bag from its place next to the door, tossing the strap on his shoulder. Grub opened the door and paused, looking back at his host. He spoke in a flat voice. "Screw you." Before she could formulate a response, he stepped through the door, slamming it closed behind him.

* * *

Trouble loved his little brother. Really, he did. _Really._

He just didn't love it when Grub appeared on his doorstep after a long shift at work with no call to warn him.

"You know," Trouble grunted, crossing his arms so he could fill up the entire doorway, leaving no space for his thin brother (who, in recent weeks, had begun to at least fill out a little, thanks to his training) to slip through, "you should have called. What if I have a hot date in here?"

Grub leaned back, head snapping up and down one, eyebrows raised. "What? In that?"

Trouble looked down at his hot-rod bedecked pajama pants. He looked up again, scowling. "She could really dig cars."

Shaking his head, Grub decided it wasn't worth the pain of arguing. He'd had enough of that for one night. "Whatever. Can I come in or not?"

Trouble momentarily considered telling his brother "no." Instead, he rolled his eyes and stepped out of the doorway, not actually giving permission, but at least rescinding his position as guardian of the gateway. As he walked to the living room, he spoke aloud, not bothering to actually direct his speech at his brother. "Guess you'll be needing my couch for the night?"

Grub followed, glancing balefully at the sofa. It was brown pleather, which meant no breathing room between his skin and the material. He always woke up feeling like he'd bathed in salt-water after a night on the cushions. "Sadly, yes. I don't think I should go home quite yet."

Trouble flopped into his one armchair, laying with his legs draped over the side. "Exiled from fair lady's presence?"

"No," Grub droned, dropping his messenger bag to the floor and draping himself across the couch, the metal loops on his pants jingling, and leaned his back against the arm rest. "I left."

"Huh." Trouble nodded. "Good for you."

Grub's neck went limp, head falling so he looked at the ceiling. "Oh, yeah. Real good. She yells at me for thirty seconds and I run off. That's promising." He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath.

Trouble watched his brother for a while. He said nothing, eventually rising from his chair, disappearing into the kitchen. There was the suction pop of the refrigerator door opening, followed by a few clinks and another pair of smaller vacuums being released. When he reappeared, it was holding two amber-colored bottles in one hand. Stopping by the side of the couch, he stretched out his arm towards his little brother, twitching it in a silent offer.

At first, Grub was confused. He watched the bottle, not entirely sure why it was so close to his face. Realizing that he was to take it, he became even more confused, but reached out, accepting the chilled drink, letting Trouble return to his chair. For a while, Grub read the label, lips pursed. Then, when a shrug, he put the rim to his lips and tilted it back.

A second later, he began to sputter, pulling the bottle away and glaring at it. "What the _hell_?" He glanced at his brother, then at the bottle, spinning it around as he looked for more labels. "Has this gone bad or something?"

Trouble raised an eyebrow, shaking his head slowly. He took a long drag on the beer, letting his muscles go loose so he practically melted into the chair.

"Gods, why do people _drink_ this stuff?"

Trouble waved his bottle at the younger elf. "Stop complaining and drink. You'll understand soon enough."

Scowling, Grub complied, taking little sips of the alcohol. He'd had spirits before, but they were mixers instead of beer. He really didn't see what the appeal was. For the first few tastes, he considered giving the bottle back, but decided to just wait it out. Grub could have gotten away with a refusal to anyone else, but Trouble was his big brother, and that meant he was accustomed to making his sibling do whatever he wanted, on pain of a noogie or similar punishment. So he let the silence stretch out between them, both occasionally drinking, Trouble making much more progress than his inexperienced guest.

Eventually, Trouble seemed to decide that it was time to move onto the next portion of their evening. He rested his half-empty bottle between his legs, draping his arms along the chair. "You should date," he said matter-of-factly.

Grub choked on his beer. Wiping the bitter brew off his chin with the back of his hand, he gaped at his brother. "Gods, Trouble, aren't you paying attention? She _hates_ me!"

Trouble snorted. "I didn't mean you and _Vinyáya_. I meant _you_."

"Oh, no," Grub said, shaking his head, hands held up to ward off the idea. "That is _not_ good times."

"Ah, come on. You just need to get back in the game." Trouble paused, considering this, then amended himself. "Or in the game for the first time, as it were."

Taking another swig of beer (he had to admit, the taste was growing on him...or the alcohol was dulling his taste buds enough to fool himself into thinking it was growing on him) to fortify himself, Grub again denied his brother. "No, I was in the game before. I was a pawn."

Trouble chuckled, pulling on his bottle until the last few drops trickled down his throat. He placed it at the foot of the chair and didn't bother to rise for another. The alcohol had been less about making his own portion of this conversation tolerable, and more about easing Grub into it. "You know, if I was Fowl, I'd make some sort of clever analogy about pawns being able to fight their way across a board and turn into rook or bishop or even a knight."

Muttering, Grub replied, "Or a queen."

"Hey, what you do in your free time is your own business, little bro. Just don't let Mother find out."

Grub paused in another gulp to look over at his sibling. There was no way to give such an accusation a dignified response, so he popped the bottle away from his lips. When he inspected it, the younger Kelp found that three quarters of the contents were gone. After a pause, and with a small shrug, he tilted his head back, swallowing the last. That done, he put the bottle on the floor, also not bothering for a second, and wriggled into the couch. This was a rather interesting feeling. A little tired, as he normally felt when intoxicated, but not warm, as he felt with hard liquor. Pleasantly muddled, he allowed the conversation to progress. "Just what Mother needs. More ammo."

"Hey, that's not fair," Trouble interrupted, scowling. "She hasn't printed a word about the pregnancy, and that has _got_ to be killing her. The story of the decade, and she can't break it."

"No," Grub countered, waving a hand about in the air. He tried to focus on it, and decided that was a bad idea. It made his stomach do strange things. He let it rest with the other, crossed over his stomach. "She just rants about everything _else_." He closed his eyes, face tightening so that two lines appeared between his eyebrows. "Gods, she is _still_ pissed at me, isn't she?"

"Dunno," Trouble said. "I haven't talked to her since the dinner."

Grub considered this. He let a very small smile come out on his face. "You sure that's a good idea? She could start writing about _you_ next."

"Ah, what would she say? 'Trouble Kelp sleeps with another hot chick! Will he ever stop?'"

Grub laughed, tightening his grip on his stomach. "Ha! Like you would."

Silence for a minute. Then Trouble whistled softly. "I dunno. I mean...fatherhood is doing you wonders. Maybe it's time I considered it."

"Oh, yeah. Getting kicked out of two houses by two different women. Being a father is _great_."

"No, really." Trouble insisted. "Before all this started, I've got to say, I didn't really like you." An awkward pause, and he jumped forward. "I mean, I loved you, don't get me wrong. You're my brother, but you were kind of...." He chewed on his cheek, trying to think of something diplomatic.

"An asshole?"

"Your words, not mine." Trouble decided to move quickly, before giving his morose brother more time to sulk. "But, lately...well...I don't see you often, but I'm...glad to see you." Trouble chuckled. "You're actually starting to look kind of cool."

Grub raised his head, finally opening his eyes, and they soon went wide. "Really? Cool?"

Trouble held out his hand, index finger and thumb held a fraction apart. For a moment, you could see the connection between the commander and his good friend, Frond, even if they were on such polar opposites of the gender spectrum.

Again the corporal's head fell down, resting on the couch's arm. "Woah. How did that happen?"

"One of the great mysteries of the universe." His brother's ego thus bolstered to a reasonable level after what Trouble had no doubts was another intense confrontation with the wing commander, the elder Kelp decided his good deed of the day was done. He let companionable silence drift between them, indulging himself in the feel of slight intoxication.

At first, the corporal was also content to enjoy the relaxation, but it did not last forever. When Grub next spoke, he was so quiet that Trouble wasn't sure if he heard correctly, at first. Yet he did not ask his brother to repeat the words that slowly wormed into his brain, disturbing the tranquility therein. "Do you...do you think.... What would Dad say?"

Trouble mulled this over, trying to remember everything he could about their father. Even though the three Kelp boys had been close, Major Manfred Kelp had passed on so long ago.... "I think...he would want you to do this. As far as what happened _after_ Vinyáya told you, I mean." Trouble nodded once, and that movement solidified the conclusion in his mind. It was right. He knew it was. "You didn't expect something like this to happen, and you didn't want it, but...you're doing your best." He shrugged. "He'd be proud of you, I think, because...well...I know _I_ am."

Grub said nothing. Possibly because the single tear that managed to escape the corner of his eye (which Trouble could tactfully ignore) would also be released in his voice. So they waited while the moment passed and Grub stopped swallowing down the tension that threatened to overtake him and spill over.

Once he was sure that it was safe to talk again, Trouble used that age-old icebreaker of men across the world: "Want another beer?"

Grub groaned. "Do you have something that _doesn't _taste like dog piss?"

"I'd rather not know how you can make that comparison...." Ignoring his little brother's scowl, Trouble swung his legs off the arm rest and stood, taking a moment to be still and re-acquire his balance. "Hang tight, let me get the rum."

"And coke!" Grub called after him.

Trouble turned, crossing his arms and glaring down at his little brother. "Real men don't cut their alcohol, Grub."

"Oh, really?" The corporal challenged, crossing his legs at the ankle. "Who says so?"

"Me," Trouble grunted, thumbing his chest. "I'm older, so I'm the one with more authority on the subject."

"Hah! Think again, Trubs. _I_," Grub replied, also pointing a thumb into his sternum, "am the one who knocked up a superior officer."

Trouble stared at him, blinking several times. "Are you—"

"_D'arvit!_ Yes, I'm _sure_. Can you stop _asking_ already?"

Trouble pulled at the base of his ponytail. "I'm just waiting for the universe to catch up and implode on itself, once it figures this out."

"Oh, it'll happen eventually. In the meantime," Grub pointed at the kitchen, deepening his voice as much as he could, "the rum!"

Laughing, Trouble followed his order. "Whatever you say, little bro. Just don't complain to me tomorrow if you have a hangover at work."

"Oh, no worries," Grub smirked. "I will."

* * *

**Preview: Can you teach me how to fly?/ 'Cause see I'm scared to die,/ and I've only just begun to learn to crawl./ Can you teach me how to fight?/ You can keep me up all night./ Would you be there on the ground if I should fall?/ Fall for you.**


	18. In My Battered Eye

**Author's note: I never got very far in my karate training, but I have used some of it here. I did my best to use plain English when describing things, but some words do not translate well. Thus, I maintained the use of "gi" (short for "karategi") in describing the martial arts uniform, and "kata" for a set of choreographed movements used to maintain and increase skill. If anyone has a better word for either of those, tell me, so I can make this more accessible to all readers. I've also trained under two schools, and their ideas for stances were slightly different, so if some of the stances seem off to you, you probably went to a different style school from the ones I went to (sadly, I can't remember their names...one was shotokan, I think....). So...yeah, that's why it looks wrong! Not because I never got past the white belt! Not at _all!_**

**Author's note the second: Sorry for taking so long. I didn't have this or the next chapter done when I posted 17, so I wasn't ready to go like normal. Once I get 19 done, 20 to 27 are already finished, so there shouldn't be many more gaps for a while. My original goal was to post the epilogue the morning of my wedding (June 12), but I'm not sure if that's going to happen. There's still 25 more chapters to write. Well...here's hoping. Worst case, I bet I'll get some writing done during the honeymoon cruise. I mean...goodness, what is there for me to do on my honeymoon? ;P**

* * *

**Song: "Learn to Crawl" by Black Lab**

* * *

**Chapter 18: In My Battered Eye**

**Week 14**

"Bad i-deeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaa," Holly sang under her breath.

Lili shot a sideways glare at the woman, lightly backhanding her arm. "Shut it. He doesn't need your 'encouragement.'"

Just out of earshot, but rapidly approaching their circle, Grub Kelp walked, running his hands over his outfit. He hadn't worn one of these in _years_. If not for the fact that he ended his growth spurts right before entering the academy and succeeded—with the help of his enforced jogging—in keeping his general shape, the gi wouldn't have fit. It was getting a little tight around the upper arms, though, and that made him grin. Nothing was visible, but there was no denying that his time on the weights was having some effect. He no longer flailed about like an anemic 'tween, though he was nowhere near his elder brother's grunting displays of strength. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to achieve that level of physical fitness, but at least moving in its vague direction was a plus.

He was brought back to the gi—a white affair almost identical to the human martial arts outfit, and chosen because if its inherent usefulness in combat training—by his repeated fumbling with the belt. This had been something he could never understand, even when he did it a dozen times under direct instruction from a LEP teacher. Was is over and under, then under and over...or over and under, over and under...or under—

"Come here, you dork," Lili muttered, stepping forward.

Grub looked up, blinking. He did so a little more when Lili grabbed the ends of his belt, tugging him closer. She didn't address his face as she spoke, hands flying as she uncinched the tie. "I really don't get how guys can't understand this. _Hello_, just listen to the instructor. Under and over, then over and under_._" Finishing this mini-rant, she pinched the inner section of the knot, moving it in towards Grub's stomach before tugging the outer portion, leaving the belt at a perfect level of tension around Grub's waist.

Doing his best to avoid a sulk, Grub surveyed his two teachers for the day. Both had his same attire, but he had to admit that they pulled it off a lot better than him. Something about how the material flowed over their chests. Not tight (that would be a huge disadvantage, limiting some of their mobility), but well-curved. Feminine, despite the supposedly masculine activity they were about to engage in, and parted enough to see the black shirts they wore under the gi to hide their chests. He was momentarily glad he didn't need the extra cover. The uniform would be hot enough without a shirt on underneath.

Holly padded forward on bare feet, arms still crossed, eyes narrowed at her nervous student. She closely monitored his gi, but had no comment, possibly because her handler/secretary had just put in her own ounce of effort to making it acceptable. So, instead, she jumped right into things. "Forward stance," she commanded, her own feet angling into the proper position, though her legs were kept close together and she stood at full height, waiting.

It had been years since Grub used any of his LEP hand-to-hand combat training, but his muscle memory was good enough to remember at least this. Left leg forward and bent at a near right angle, his right leg shot back, foot turned out at forty-five degrees. He held his hands in fists near his waist and looked straight ahead. But only for about a second, after which his head tilted as he appealed to the women for confirmation.

Holly whacked him on the back of the head, no more or less gentle than any of his Academy martial arts teachers. "_Forward_. That's where your enemy is." She began to circle him, grumbling about being dragged into a futile exercise. Without pointing out exactly why she was doing anything, she began to prod at his position, using a foot to turn out Grub's own angled toes a fraction further, pushing on the back of his right leg to make sure it was strong enough to withstand an attack, and putting his fists at the correct place on his waist, tightening the angle of his elbow. When she finished this, Holly stood at his side, tapping her toes and thinking. She scowled. "Back straight, Kelp."

He complied, wondering if this was how an artist's dummy felt.

Holly did another circuit, accompanied by Lili. As they went, the Major pointed out parts of Kelp's stance, lecturing her secretary, who was rolling her eyes. Something was said about "for your own exam," letting Grub know that Holly wasn't satisfied with having the highest-ranked secretary in the LEP, pushing the woman further forward into her own captain's exam in a few years. Despite her dismissive looks, Lili took notes and even a few pictures with the small camera mounted on her tablet. He blushed at the idea of being held up as an example for another aspiring captain, but that was the only falter in his now-perfect stance.

After a while, it occurred to Grub that Holly wasn't just re-familiarizing him with the basics of the form, but also testing his stamina. His legs and arms began to burn from not moving out of the position that had once felt fairly natural. His right calf in particular complained at the stretching, and his mind seemed to be drawn into the aching muscle, making it all the worse. It was so simple. So fiendish. Fowl must have been rubbing off on her.

Just as he could feel a tremble building in his legs, Holly arrived at the front of her student and snapped her fingers. "Ready position."

Grub put both feet together, angled away from each other, and his hands remained at their position on his hips.

Holly snorted. "Back _straight_, Kelp," she commanded, stepping to his side and slapping the middle of his shoulders.

Yelping, Grub complied, going to his full height.

Stepping back, Holly's eyes went wide, as did Lili's. "Holy _Frond_, Kelp!" The major barked, looking up to his face. "How tall _are _you?"

He broke position, taking up one hand to rub at the back of his neck, slouching. "Er...115 centimeters."

Rather than responding to this impressive measurement, Major Short slapped his head again, much harder this time, and she had to stand on the tips of her toes to get there. "Ready position!"

"Yes, sir!" Grub squeaked, immediately back to his correct stance. He winced at the incorrectly applied title, but the female didn't seem to mind. Perhaps this was a quirk among the higher-ranked LEP females...them being Short and Vinyáya.

Lili tapped a stylus against her lips, taking a step closer, voice lowered in a conspiratorial manner that did not hide the words from her boss. "One hundred fifteen, hmmm? Well...how about we ignore those first hundred," she paused, eyes darting purposefully down before locking with his, "and discuss the last fifteen?"

Grub choked, even if it was only on air. "I-I-I—"

"Lili!" Holly snapped, grabbing the back of the blond's belt, tugging her away. "Stop it! Don't give him false hopes. It isn't fair."

Lili pouted.

Placing her assistant at a safe distance, Holly went around to Grub's front, also going into the ready position. "You remember simple sparring, correct?"

Nowhere near thoroughly chastened, Lili piped up. "Yes, simple back and forth. I _do_ hope you remember that."

Grub felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck.

Holly put two fingers to her eyes, moving them out in an invisible line to connect with Grub's. "Ignore her. She does this with everyone."

"Not everyone!" Lili protested.

"...everyone with a penis."

"Not...." Lili scowled and said nothing further.

"Simple sparring," Holly continued, as if a lascivious elf-ette had not interrupted her. "I'll step forward and strike at your face. Just go into a forward stance and do an upwards block, for now. Then I want you to step towards me and punch at _my_ face. Got it?"

After a long pause to consider, Grub nodded.

"Okay." Holly put one hand forward and down, keeping the other at her waist to show which she would be attacking with. "And remember, my head is down _here_. Begin."

Holly could moving lightning fast, but she knew better than to use her normal speed with the rusty corporal. She felt ludicrously slow, but kept her movements in check, just in case he was even more out of practice than she had assumed. Grub responded well, moving his left leg back, the same arm coming up and across his chest, parallel to the ground, lifting her fist out of the way. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped forward again, right fist coming towards Holly's head at the same speed as she had used. Holly faltered at this, but only because it felt weird to exchange blows in this manner. Like taking an entire minute for a single step.

Once they rested, she nodded, bringing her hands back to her waist and going into the ready position. "Good. Faster, this time, and we're going to go until you do something wrong, okay?" Mentally, she tabulated how long it would take to get through all of the basics. There went her morning...Lili was _so_ lucky she was irreplaceable, or else her pet project wouldn't get a second's worth of attention. "Ready? Begin."

They went back and forth for four turns before Holly called the exercise to a halt. Each punch had raised her ire, and now she looked ready to explode. Grub had noted her reactions, and he was waiting for the big unloading.

"What are you _doing_?" Holly demanded, poking at his chest.

"I-I don't know, Major."

"_Punch_ me, Kelp. That's an order." She pointed to her face to indicate that she meant the command.

Grub stared at her and backed away a half-step. "What?"

Holly went after him the same distance he retreated. "Punch me. Go on, give it all you've got. Unless you have some amazing hidden Drunken Master kung fu up your sleeves, I'll be fine. So, hard and fast as you can."

"That sounds promising," Lili broke in.

Gritting her teeth and speaking around her clenched jaw, Holly once again told Grub to ignore the woman. She waited, chin raised, for the attack.

Grub didn't move for quite some time, hoping that Short would renege her command, or tell him she had been joking and you should _never_ attack an undefended opponent. When she did not, he reluctantly took one fist from his waist, sending it towards the Major's head.

It was glacial. Holly actually had time to give it a withering glance. Then, she grabbed Kelp's wrist, spinning so his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she bent over as she came to his chest. Her momentum added to his, flipping the male over her body so he crashed to the padded flooring. Holly stepped on his shoulder and began to pull.

Grub howled at the unnatural angle and stretching, slamming his other hand on the mat to indicate surrender. It was the only move he could still use, and it was ignored.

"_What_ did I say, Kelp? _All you've got_. If that's it, then give up now, before you waste any more of Lili's time, and _especially_ any more of mine!" Twisting once to bring her point home, Holly let go, stepping away from the conquered man. She waved her hand at Lili. "You do it, this time. Maybe he's just afraid of me."

Nodding at this rather good point, Lili stepped into her boss's place, waiting for Grub to stand again. He looked, if anything, even more terrified as the blond sunk into a forward stance, left fist angled towards the ground.

"Can we just skip this part of the exam?" Grub pleaded, slouching in a sloppy match of Lili's position.

"Oh, sure," Holly muttered, looking through Lili's tablet. "If you want to remain a corporal. A fail on _any_ portion of the exam is a fail for the _entire_ exam. Posture!"

"Balls," Grub muttered, straightening his back. He tried to plead with his eyes, willing Lili to understand that he didn't want to do this. When she did not respond, he moved his fist—even slower than he had with Holly—towards her face.

Lili didn't even bother to block. Instead, she ducked under his arm and within his reach, her chest brushing against his, then stepped again, bringing her knee up between his legs, stopping just a hair's breadth from the most painful attack possible. Her face was just as close to his as her knee was to his other parts, and she narrowed her eyes. "Don't you _dare_ do this, Grub. If Holly is right and you are wasting my time, I will _never_ forgive you."

Grub squeaked, too scared of injury to move. He nodded, skin all along his body tingling as their noses brushed against each other.

Smiling brightly, Lili also nodded. "Sweet!" She pushed his chest and was gone in an instant, back into her stance and waiting.

After taking a few seconds to reassure his nethers that they were safe, Grub got ready. When he attacked this time, it was much faster, though Lili still easily blocked.

Holly watched them exchange practice blows for a minute before stopping the pair. Brows furrowed, she grabbed Lili's arm, pulling her away. She did not take the woman's place. "Just move across the floor in forward stance and do some punches, Kelp. Give them everything you've got. I want you to do some ki-ais with them, too."

Head tilting in confusion, Grub got low to the ground. Feet sliding across the padded floor, legs weaving in a fraction as he as he stepped forward, he punched at the air, letting out small puffs with each blow. He ended with a "yah!" that he felt was particularly loud, though it would have been drowned out completely if paired with some of the calls from the other officers practicing in the brightly lit room.

Holly raised the corner of one lip. "What in the world?" She twirled her finger, indicating that he turn around. "Once again."

He complied, a little louder this time, and with a fraction more power to the strikes. It felt sort of good to yell like that. Yet, when he finished and glanced towards Holly, he felt his stomach sink.

Her mouth was open and eyebrows lowered. A second later, she squinted even more, clenching her fists. "I don't _believe_ this!"

Lili also seemed perplexed. "What?"

"I thought he was just useless...an idiot...."

Grub sulked.

"But he just wont hit a _girl!_"

Lili snapped her head to Grub, matching Holly's outrage. "He _what_?"

Holly stepped forward, circling the officer. "Oh, he's not too good, his stance and speed tells you that well enough, but he just showed a _lot_ more power in those two rounds than he did with either of us, and normally you give more effort when facing up against an opponent." She stopped in front of her temporary student. "Kelp, you _do_ know I could kick your ass three ways from Sunday, at a conservative estimate, right?"

He nodded, face glowing with embarrassment. In fact, she _had_ kicked his ass about _five_ ways from Sunday—and on a regular basis—when she returned to the LEP after her Hybras trip. The stress of sparring with her was one of the reasons he finally got his desk job.

"So _why_ are you holding back? It's not because you're scared, because there is _no_ way you're afraid of Lili."

He didn't answer. That would surely mean another throw to the ground.

"You _still_ have some sort of misguided chivalry towards us? When we could beat the shit out of you?" Holly poked his chest, trying to prompt his denial. "Well?"

When he did not respond, she stepped way, letting out a quick, disgusted breath. "Feh! Fine. I'll find you a guy to fight, if that will appease your _ego_." She looked about the room, inspecting each officer in the large space, immediately dismissing most. Very soon, she chuckled, ears practically curving into a demoness's horns.

If Grub had been aware of the other exercising officers and a bit smarter, he would have punched Holly in the face then and there, just to prove her wrong and avoid get a new partner.

"Vein! Vein, over here!" Holly called, waving the sprite Major in with her whole arm.

Vein flapped his wings once in acknowledgement of the woman, but did not stop his current kata. Grub recognized it as one of the forms his Academy teacher had shown on the first day to impress the new students; a long sequence beginning with a few simple punches, kicks, and blocks, along with several 90 and 180 degree turns. Halfway through, he exploded into a scissor kick, landing in a crouch, immediately turning it into a roll, springing up at the end to land back in forward stance.

From there, the kata began to get difficult.

All of it was done with lightning speed, no wing-work, and bellows that reached every corner of the gym. With each move, Vein's gi snapped, and almost every other move was accompanied by a sharp exhale, each series ending with a thunderous ki-ai. He ended the routine with a trio of tornado kicks, feet barely touching the ground before he sprung into the next, screaming with each leap, ending with a roar so loud that many of the surrounding officers stopped their own, much less complicated katas as they lost concentration. He remained crouched in a cat stance, breath held, both hands in blades.

Slowly, he let the breath out, bringing his fists together, head bowed as he let out the last of his energy. Then, spinning on his heel, he swaggered up to the training trio. "Yo, Short. What?"

"Come on," she said, waving him in, "give us a hand."

Vein walked past Holly, stopping in front of Lili, the corner of his mouth raised in a canine-displaying grin. "I'd _love_ to give you a hand wherever you _need_ it."

Holly coughed, grabbing the back of Vein's belt and forcing him into a spin. "No," she said, stopping him before Grub, "I meant _him_."

Vein glanced across at the male elf. After taking a while to process the sight, he held up his hands, stepping back. "Okay, _not_ giving _you_ a hand."

Grub looked relieved.

Holly shoved the sprite's back, but he was solid enough to only sway a centimeter. "He needs someone to spar with. Just a few minutes."

"Oh, no. You two deal with him." Vein was already moving to exit their small gathering, but Holly was at least strong enough to pull him back for a few seconds.

"Just a few minutes, _Major_. Out of courtesy."

Vein narrowed his eyes at Holly. He stepped away, rolling his shoulder to wrench it from his superior officer's grip. Grabbing the front of Grub's gi, he tugged the corporal along with him. "Fine, _Sub-Commander._ If you insist."

Grub winced as the sprite let him go and stepped away. Nothing angered Ash Vein more than being reminded that Holly had shot ahead of him in rank and "stolen" the position as his brother's second-in-command. "_Thanks_," he muttered at Short, who shrugged and crossed her arms, settling in to watch as Vein began to circle Grub. The elf responded by mirroring his stalk, wishing that Vein had decided to do formal sparring, rather than a full face-off.

Vein didn't even bother to maintain form as he and Grub circled, more strutting than keeping up a stance. He tugged on his black gloves, stretching his fingers before balling them up tightly, the pleather creaking. "So, Maggot, you never told me...who's the chick?"

Grub was focused on Vein's movements, crossing his legs smoothly and keeping himself at a uniform height as he maintained his distance. One hand was at his waist in a fist, the other forward in a blade, ready to block or strike (the latter _much _less likely)if he saw an opening. "What are you talking about?"

"Your promotion," Vein clarified, finally deigning to crouch, copying Grub's hand position. "What chick are you trying to impress with this?"

Grub swallowed. Vein was far too close to the truth for his liking. "I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"Oh, that's good," Vein drawled, stepping at double Grub's speed, forcing the corporal to scramble in order to keep their distance. "Because you're going to fail this test."

"_No_," Grub rumbled, getting his feet back into a strict position, tensing every muscle as he prepared for the real attack, "I am _not_."

"What? Because you have _Frond_ helping you?" Vein glanced over at the blond, licking his lips, but his tongue stuck out mid-sweep. He gave Grub his full attention again and snorted. "Oh, no, don't tell me it's _Frond_. Oh, that is _toooooo_ perfect."

It took Grub a while to understand what Vein was talking about. By the time he managed a sputtering denial, the sprite had already gone on in his conjectures.

Vein barked out a laugh before returning to the low voice that would keep the women from hearing their pre-fight psycho-out. "Maggot, you didn't need to do that, you know. Try to impress her."

Grub could feel heat in his neck and cheeks, and he wasn't sure what exactly was bringing it there. He knew Vein's words were working on him. His mind was racing, and he could feel his toes slipping out of proper alignment, going back to a more natural stance. Perhaps if he had a few decades of rigorous training behind him like the battle-crazed Vein he would have been able to engage in this banter with no issues, but he could not concentrate on proper form and the sprite's words at the same time. "Yeah? And what makes you say that? She never noticed me before."

"Oh, _nooooo_," Vein cooed, "I agree with you. She never noticed you, but you didn't have to work this hard." He chuckled, throwing his head back, as if seeking to toss his buzz-cut brown hair from his eyes. "She can be im_pressed_ by _any _man."

A haze descended in front of Grub's eyes. One second, he saw Vein clearly. The next, everything was red, and Vein had a shocked expression as his face came closer and closer to the corporal. Something buzzed in Grub's ears, but he could hear himself yelling, though as if at a distance or underwater. His fist came around and, finally, those years of training in the academy came back to him, and he knew his form was perfect, his fist tight, thumb over index and middle finger, the latter raised just a half-centimeter to make the initial point of impact a single bone against flesh, like a nail's tip cutting into wood. It hit Vein almost in the middle of his chest, just slightly to the left, right above the sprite's heart. He watched, satisfied, as Vein rocked back under the assault.

And then Vein righted himself before he had gone even ten degrees towards the ground. The major glanced down at his chest, where Grub's fist now rested, the knuckles pushing his muscles back as he remained tensed from the strike. Vein sucked on his lips, then popped them open with a long sigh. "You're supposed to retreat after you punch."

Grub stopped breathing, realizing what he had done, and his feet began to move backward. It felt like he was knee-deep in mud.

Vein grabbed Grub's wrist.

Across the room, Lili and Holly winced, holding their hands in front of their faces, as if to guard against the attacks being laid upon the male elf's head, torso, back, and legs. Lili in particular held her hands to her mouth, biting the ball of her palm to stop a moan of sympathy pain.

Thirty seconds later, Vein walked up, dusting off his hands before readjusting his belt. "Anything else I can help you with, ladies?"

Holly glowered, balling her fists. "Yeah. How about you fight someone who can actually defend themselves?" She took a step towards the sprite, going up on her toes, knees slightly bent, as she prepared for a strike from a somewhat modified cat stance.

Vein just laughed at her posture. "Short, isn't the proper phrase 'go pick on somebody your own size?' Oh!" He tutted, patting Holly's head, which only came up to his neck. "Sorry. How thoughtless of me."

Lili advanced to her boss's side, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, and both women began to stare down the LEP's best fighter. Holly was just slightly behind Vein and Commander Kelp in martial arts skill, but adding in a partner, while less than honorable, would lead to a satisfying victory. "I recommend you get out of here, before we decide to make this _personal_."

"Hah! And _how_ would you do that, little _princess_?" He reached out, tugging a strand of Lili's hair, bringing her closer. "Got some royal bodyguards around to protect the last Frond's honor?" He twirled the hair about his finger, pulling the woman in by degrees. "Oh, _wait_. I forgot. The last of the royal guards were _killed_ trying to _heal_ your family of Spelltropy. My bad. I guess there's no one left to defend your honor" He winked. "Such as it is."

Lili snapped her head back, ignoring the pain as her hair was almost pulled out by the roots, and stood as tall as she could, her shoulders far back, chin high. "How _dare_ you! Commander Kelp will hear of this, I _swear_, and you will be out of the force before you can say—"

"_AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!_"

Vein yelped as something crashed into his back, making him stagger forward several steps. "What in the _yaaaaaah!_"

Holly grabbed Lili's shoulders, moving away so they were out of range of the sneak attack. Lili's eyes were wide, still tinged with rage at the reminder of her family's death and the slight against herself, but she was soon grinning. "Yes, my minion!" She cackled, clawed hands raised, as if summoning more power for the battle. "Attack! _Attack!_"

Holly let Lili go and stepped away, eyeing her in alarm.

Grub, in the middle of complying with his tutor, only twitched an ear. He couldn't talk, far too busy keeping his mouth closed so his jaw wouldn't snap down on his tongue whenever Vein thrashed. He was practically standing on the sprite's back, leaning away at an acute angle, held in place by his grip on the major's wings, which he was tugging back as far as possible, the bone and sinew straining under the pressure. His nails dug into the leathery flesh between bone. He managed to speak around his closed teeth, and, while not too clear, it was understandable enough. "Take it _back!_"

"Get off!" Vein spun on one foot, completing several blurred revolutions in an attempt to throw off his attacker. His assault on the corporal had been devastating enough that he had dismissed the elf, but that was obviously a mistake. Kelp seemed to recover from attack much faster than almost any other opponent he had faced, and the elf was not above fighting dirty. Riding a sprite's wings like this would have immediately disqualified a fighter from any judged competition, for the very reason that it was shockingly effective. Vein liked to keep his wings open, like a peacock on permanent display, and that left him open to attacks like these.

"Take it _back_!" Grub repeated, stretching out his legs to put more pressure on the delicate wings.

"Graaaah! _No!_ Let me _go!_" Vein reached behind his back, trying to catch Grub's feet, but the elf danced out of the way whenever he got close enough to touch.

"By _Frond_, I wont let go until you take it back!" Grub felt his nails breaking through Vein's skin, and he laughed. This was _way_ too easy! And it felt _great!_

"Really?" Vein stopped his struggles. He looked over his shoulder, teeth flashing in the bright gym lights. "You're going to regret that."

Grub was highly attuned to getting the crap beaten out of him, and his body began to instinctively tense and relax in all of the appropriate places. His face fell. "Oh...balls."

Vein flapped his wings as hard as possible, not freeing himself from Grub's grip, but pulling the elf forward as they stretched out to his sides in a perfect plane. With a small leap, as if trying to fly, Vein was in the air, but curving backwards. He pulled his arms and legs close into his body, turning into a ball.

Grub realized what was about to happen about a millisecond before it did, but that was just enough time for him to realize how much it was going to hurt.

Vein landed on top of Grub, his shoulders sinking deep into the young man's stomach, head crashing into his sternum. His wings got an uncomfortable jolt, but nowhere near as traumatic as the one to all of the corporal's internal organs. He could feel the elf gasping under him, the little air he recovered dedicated to whimpers and wheezes.

True to his word, Grub didn't let his hands open, but they did loose strength as he tried to retain consciousness. Taking advantage of this before the corporal began to recover, Vein stood, wrenching his wings free. He felt a few tears as Grub's nails damaged them, but it was minor enough. Flapping once and folding his wings safely onto his back, Vein rubbed a hand across his mouth, removing some of the spittle that had collected there as he screamed. Looking over his shoulder, he smirked at his immobile opponent. "Little tip, Maggot: both of these chicks are out of your league, but at least one of them can teach you to fight. The other...well, everyone needs a little 'victory party' after their exam."

Holly watched carefully as Vein walked off with a little two-fingered salute, leaving Lili to drop by Grub's side and begin hunting down his wounds. He would need a trip to the surface to complete the Ritual after something like that, and the full moon had just passed. In fact, he wouldn't get the opportunity until after his test, which was just three weeks away. Grumbling, Holly kicked Grub's shoulder, barely tapping him with her toes, but enough to get his attention. "I'm impressed. You lived."

Lili shot Holly a look that promised harsh words later, but went back to her examination, beginning to sent blue sparks into Grub's stomach and chest.

Grub took them for a few seconds, moaning in a evocative manner as his internal organs were put to rights so he could breath. Taking a huge gulp of air to make sure he actually could, Grub grabbed Lili's hands, taking them away from his body. "Thanks, but that's enough. I'll lose the progress from my workouts this past week if you keep going."

"Grub!" she protested, keeping him down with a hand to his shoulder, which he quickly began to fight. "You're black and blue! Just let me get rid of the bruising."

"_No_, Lili," Holly commanded, grabbing her secretary's shoulder and pulling her away, her hand flying off as the woman twisted violently to escape her hold. "He's right. He can't afford to miss any of his training, and this will be a lesson to him, at the very least." She turned to Grub, who was doing his best to stand, and mostly failing. "Are you done, now? Will you stop being so 'chivalrous,' stop being an utter waste of my time, and actually _fight_?"

Grub stood fully erect, and that made his head spin. He closed his eyes in an effort to stop the dangerous motion, but found that merely made things seem unsteadier. Swallowing down his nausea, Grub nodded. "Yeah. Point made. Everyone in the LEP could beat me senseless, so there's no sense worrying about hurting you." He touched his lip, head jerking back and wincing as he found a cut there. It was no longer bleeding, but he had a good split that would ache for days, at the very least.

"I don't know about that," Holly countered, waving her hand flippantly. "Vein may have beaten you senseless, but you _did_ get a good punch in on him. Even if he was at a disadvantage while concentrating on being a complete prick, there's not that many officers that could do that. You have...potential."

Lili grinned, elbowing her boss. "Told you so."

* * *

The LEP was under-staffed, over-budget, and equipped with guns and armor so outdated that Foaly actually winced whenever he had to suit someone up. It was always one crisis after another, and about a third of the populace was currently under treatment for stress ulcers. Despite what one may think about the ability of magic to maintain the bodies of the LEP, healing only went so far, especially when the body was damaging itself.

And it wasn't just the LEP that was under stress. The Council was also having to deal with several major crises over the past few weeks, as an Irish land development company finalized plans for ground-breaking near a trio of Ritual oaks in the north of the island. The Fowls were stepping up, on their elven scion's urging, to purchase the land, but there was little hope of success on a legal front, and even illegal routes were less than promising. The Council was forced to do double-duty on this problem: exercise every avenue they could to delay construction, as well as restructuring Ritual procedures to accommodate for the likely loss of these valuable sites.

Thus, Vinyáya was again running on fumes near the end of Monday, having lost her entire weekend to strategy and debate. She was to the point where she just nodded mutely as Cirrus followed her down the hallways, rather than zipping down a side corridor and losing the pesky gnome. Tea had ceased to fuel her, and a tentative approach on a brewing pot of coffee had sent her running towards the facilities, where she barely managed to avoid vomiting. Now her every step was heavy and the edges of her vision were getting blurry, as if she were staring through a steam-filled window. _I've...got to...sit down_.

"And Cahartez called," Cirrus said, chewing on the end of his stylus and jogging to keep up with his significantly taller manager. "He wants to talk to you about the Amber Moon case again. Something about extenuating circumstances, but he wasn't willing to go into much depth with me. He said it was _very_ important you speak with him directly."

"No...there's been plenty of appeals already. The...C-Council can't listen to every little complaint. That's what the...the judicial system is for."

Cirrus hummed, nodding in agreement even as the sound was skeptical. "Yes, yes, but he _is_ going to be miffed about this, and you can't afford to lose his vote on the Argyle Clause. The vote _is_ next week, and—"

"Stop!" Vinyáya shouted, doing so herself, closing her eyes in an effort to keep a true darkness at bay. She just needed a few seconds to collect herself. "Tell him he has five minutes when I get home, and _only_ five minutes. Say...say I've got...." She took a lurching step sideways, eyes shooting open to help her retain balance. "I've got...got...." The tips of her fingers and toes began to tingle. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, Vinyáya recognized that this wasn't a good thing, and she opened her mouth to give Cirrus orders. She could even hear herself speaking in her head, though Cirrus just stared at her, and he seemed to be moving so _slow_. And moving away....

"WOAH! Catch her!"

It was only when someone yelled those words that Vinyáya realized she had lost all strength in her legs. They were folding under her, and she was falling back, but it felt like everything was in slow motion, or even bullet-time. She could see individual strands of her hair drifting to cover her face, and it occurred to her that they should have been pushed away by her breath. That must have been what the tingling was. Her breath was shallow, and it was only when she thought this that the elf took a deep breath, but she was already past the point of recovery. She was going to hit the ground, and she was going to hit it _hard_, without even enough time to protect her head or stomach. Very, very distantly, she thought to herself, _Well...this sucks._

Then something slammed into her, or she slammed into it, or perhaps they met each other at equal speed. Whatever she met, it wasn't strong enough to keep her upright, and she continued to fall, but now she fell on this object, which had some hard bits that dug into her, but most of it was much softer than the tile flooring that she would have met. The object cried out in pain and began to wheeze, trying to catch it's breath. A fairy, then, and not a terribly smart one, to get in the way of someone that it couldn't keep from hitting the ground. She wasn't complaining however. In fact, Vinyáya took a deep breath, reveling as her lungs filled to a proper volume, and choked out a few words. "You deserve a medal for that." It felt like such a stupid thing to say, but oxygen deprivation could do that to a girl.

"Well, that would be a first," her savior whimpered, rubbing a hand across his chest, where her head had impacted.

Vinyáya now had enough oxygen in her system for her brain to register the voice and commander her stomach to drop, which it did quite spectacularly. She tried to sit up, but found her muscles were still too weak to do anything more than squirm. "Get _off_ of me, Kelp," she hissed, making sure the sound was only loud enough for him—and not the dozen or so approaching officers—to hear.

"Hate to correct you, but you're on top of _me_." Grub did her the favor of sitting up himself, pushing his clandestine house-mate's shoulders until she was also upright. When he next spoke, it was louder, for the benefit of the crowd, and there was that old sharp whine in the words. "A bit low on blood sugar, Wing Commander? Come on, let's go to the infirmary. You hit your head pretty hard, and I should know. It was _my_ ribs you nearly broke." He managed to maneuver himself so he crouched on one knee behind her, tucking his head beneath one of her arms. Grunting, he pushed off against the ground, and was soon cutting his eyes sideways at her. "I'd appreciate a little _help_."

She glared back, and lightning crackled between their eyes, but Vinyáya rearranged her legs and pushed off along with Grub, trying to escape his grasp once she was upright. He refused to let go, however, though he did take her arm from over his neck, merely holding her against him at the waist. "I can get there on my own, now."

"Maybe," he conceded, stepping out and dragging the woman along, despite a sharp jerk away from him as they began to move, "but, like I said, I need to see about my ribs, now, so we might as well go together."

"People are going to _talk_, Kelp," Vinyáya said, angling her head just a fraction towards his to keep the dispersing officers from hearing.

"Talk? About us? You know, that's really not an effective _threat_ against me."

"If anyone finds out—"

"You will deny everything and I'll see your ass in court for the paternity test. About right?"

"I...you..."

"Yes, that _is_ what the DNA will say." They were clear of the crowd, now, and working their way through the halls of the Plaza. Vinyáya had a fortuitous fall, in regards to proximity to nurse's office, and they had soon left the wider main corridors, entering a much quieter portion of the building. Not far off came the clangs of resetting weights and barks of exercising officers, but they were all but drowned out by the thickly padded carpet and twisting paths.

Vinyáya had only been in this section of Police Plaza a few times. Most often, if she needed medical help, she needed _serious_ medical help, and it was off to the actual hospital. However, not every officer was so brash as she, and several (like Grub) were prone to small accidents and crises, like cuts and sprains. For this, the LEP had its own medical officer. While a full doctor, Heather White preferred her little corner of the world to be called the "Nurse's Office," claiming that fewer officers pestered her if they thought she was unable to help them with the things that actually _were_ out of her job description, such as writing prescriptions and providing physical therapy. In all, the job wasn't that far removed from a primary school nurse's duties. Minor triage on things like broken bones, but more often she had to deal with black eyes, vomit, and "he started it!" claims.

Also, like all good nurses, she was remarkably friendly. There was a bell attached to her door, the jingle alerting her as Vinyáya and Grub walked in. She paused in the middle of a cup of ramen, chopsticks halfway to her mouth, yellow broth dripping to a wisely placed paper towel on her chest. She slurped up her lunch and set the rest aside, yanking the napkin off. "Councilwoman Vinyáya. I don't see you here that often. Here, take a seat, you look like you could use one." The woman, whose stature proclaimed her a pixie, while the small wings on her back said "sprite," pulled on a roll of paper, bringing a long sheet down over one of her salmon-colored beds, which she then patted noisily.

Grub helped Vinyáya (who was staring at the doctor's bleach-blond head) to the mattress, where she sat on the edge with her arms crossed.

His burden thus removed, Grub sought to do the same to himself, heading towards the door.

"_Not,"_ Dr. White objected, her hand snapping out to grab Grub's ear, dragging him back to sit on a second bed, this one having been covered in paper after her last patient left, "so fast, boy. Sit down for a bit and let me have a look at you." She weaved past him, the presence of two beds and three fairies, as well as all of her equipment, making the room feel uncomfortably packed to everyone but the doctor herself. "You've got a nasty cut lip, there, and a right shiner. Been fighting a troll?"

Grub licked his lip, wincing as that simple movement stung his wound. "No. Ash Vein."

"I do believe I was right the first time," White muttered, taking a handful of cotton swabs and a small cup of green goo out from her cabinets. She kicked it closed behind her, ignoring Vinyáya incredulous glances at her orange high tops and the green corduroys under her standard white doctor's smock. "That brute gives me more trouble than all of the other Majors put together, but injure his wings and it's _wah wah wah,_ recovery time, extra painkillers, disability...wimp."

Grub smiled, but soon yelped as his lip was again pulled apart by the stretching. Dr. White was dedicated to the physician's ideals of helping all and doing no harm, but it didn't keep her from complaining about her more troublesome patients. On reflection, Grub assumed that White had similar words about his many visits, but he didn't really care. Not when she was coming at him with a healing salve.

Still muttering darkly about male sprites—having moved on from Vein to Verbil and their many compatriots—the half-breed began to dab at Grub's wounds with a goo-covered ball of cotton. Wherever she tapped, a white shimmer began to alight, the broken skin knitting together. It was far slower than his own magic, but also weaker, and thus unable to affect the building damage to his muscles. Grub sighed and licked his lip as the split came back together. Quickly, he jerked his head back, sticking out his tongue and dragging it along the collar of his office shirt. "_Ugh_, that tastes _terrible_."

White snorted and shoved a loaded cotton swab over Grub's left eye, making the elf bark in pain as his purpling bruise was hit. "It's not for eating, boy. Now, keep that one in place for five minutes, and your eye should be good as new." She jerked her head back towards the door. "Now scram. I need to speak with the Wing Commander privately."

Obediently holding the cotton and salve in place, Grub slid off the table, mumbling a sullen, still somewhat pained "thanks" to the nurse, and walked out, closing the door behind him.

He wasn't completely ready to leave, however. Leaning against the wall next to the door, he pressed his ear to the crack, schooling his breaths. It was unlikely that the doctor could hear him, since he could barely hear her, but Vinyáya...he would put no ninja-like skills past her, including super-hearing.

He was quite right to be so suspicious. Within the room, Vinyáya was glaring at the door, but tore her eyes away when Dr. White began to speak.

"You look quite pale, Wing Commander. A fainting spell, I'm guessing?" She sat on a small, circle-seated chair, spinning around several times to bring herself up to the elf's sitting height.

Vinyáya nodded, leaning back on one hand, the other dragging through the hair that would have been her bangs, if she had not allowed it to grow to the waist-length that the rest of her locks maintained. "I'm afraid I was late for work and skipped breakfast. I just need an energy bar."

"Oh, gods, no, don't eat that." The sprite/pixie snorted, crossing one leg over the other. "Those things are horrible for your health, really, and for a pregnant woman? Disaster."

There was a ripping sound as Vinyáya's hands tore apart the paper on her bed. Inwardly, she cursed herself for such an unrestrained reaction. The hormones were making her _far_ too impulsive. She was starting to resemble Short. "A what?" she said lightly, smiling in a, apologetic, confused manner.

One of the doctor's wings fluttered and she laughed. "Tell me, Wing Commander, how long do you intend to hide this from the LEP? You've got to be at least three months along, so there's no denying that you know, and I highly doubt you're _waiting_ this long if you intend to terminate. So...when do you tell everyone that you're pregnant?" When her charge did not respond, the pixie held out both hands, waving them frantically. "Don't worry about _me_, of course. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all. I wont say I know, even after everyone finds out."

This woman was far too casual about her revelation. There was no denying that she was utterly certain about her delicate state. Vinyáya switched her tone to deep and threatening. "How do you know?"

Dr. White laughed, the sound like fine music, and she took some time to recover. "Wing Commander, my family is the biggest bunch of breeders you've ever seen. I've got five little siblings, and two older, not to mention all of _their_ kids, plus three of my own." She shrugged, clutching the sides of her small seat. "There's lots of signs, but the big one...you glow."

"...glow?"

A sharp nod. "You glow. Not all the time, and not when anyone is focusing on you, but I've seen it sometimes. When you're walking alone down a hall. The pregnant woman's glow."

"Great," Vinyáya muttered, looking at her arm, as if it would spontaneously light up. "I'm turning into a gods-damned firefly."

"Not nearly. And don't worry about that. Men _never_ notice glowing, and the women in this building? A good majority of them haven't even _held_ a baby. You wont be caught for glowing." Sliding off her chair, Heather White returned to her drawers, rummaging about until she came up with a sleep mask and a half-dozen cracker packets, which she handed over to her patient. "Listen to me, Wing Commander, and you'd better take this seriously. You need to take _care_ of yourself, and that includes getting plenty of food and rest. Get to bed at a decent hour, and take a nap at least once a day. And don't let you blood sugar drop. If you faint again, I _will_ be forced to break our confidentiality, for the health of the child, and there wont be a damned thing you can do about that, alright?"

Vinyáya grumbled, shoving the supplies in her jacket pockets, which bulged. What the other officers would think of her leaving the nurse's office with some hidden gifts, she had no idea, but it wouldn't be positive. "Fine. Can I go, now?"

"You can go home," the doctor said, taking a cell from her pocket and flipping it open. "You're not finishing the day here after fainting like that. Who should I call to pick you up? The father?"

Vinyáya looked away before Dr. White could see the alarm in her eyes. "I...don't know...." She trailed off. Grub didn't have a car, after all, and even if he did, it was far too soon for them to be seen together like that. _If we're _ever_ going to be seen together...._

White flipped her phone closed, lowering it to her lap. The tension rolling off the gestating woman was thick, making her wings itch and flutter. "Wing Commander...is there...something more to this?" Her mind began to race through the names of the strongest men in the LEP. Kelp, Vein, Bic, a large number of the new demon recruits....

"More?"

"Was this...did you intend...were you...?"

"Oh!" Vinyáya shot her gaze back to the doctor, putting a hand out quickly. "No, no! Nothing like that. I just...." She put her hand back down, playing with the torn ends of the paper sheet. "I was...impulsive. It was a mistake on my part, nothing...bad on his."

White eased. "Then...the father? Should I call for a ride or no?"

Vinyáya took a deep breath. _It's Grub Kelp. Imagine that. Sort of funny, really, in a weird sort of way. Haha._ "It was a mistake. I...don't even know...." She trailed off.

"Ah...." White came to her on conclusion. The doctor twirled the phone in her fingers, ending with it flat in her palm, flipping it open with a thumb slid between the two halves. "Then I'm calling you a cab. You are _not_ to ride when you've had a fainting spell. Period."

Vinyáya nodded in agreement, though there was some resentment in her for being forbidden to ride her beloved magna-bike whenever she wished. Logic and safety be damned, she hated cabs.

White flipped her hand at the door. "Go, go. There's always a half-dozen drivers around the Plaza this time of day. Someone will be waiting for you at the entrance."

First clawing at the bed in irritation, Vinyáya slid off. With no further word from White—who was already chattering away at a taxi-company receptionist—she opened the door and slipped out.

She noticed Grub immediately, and turned the full force of her glare on him. "You were eavesdropping," she said.

He shrugged, face neutral and unconcerned with her rage.

Vinyáya rolled her eyes, taking a few steps from the door to keep the doctor from overhearing. Grub followed her in silent obedience as they made their way down the deserted corridor. "I...suppose I should thank you. For catching me."

He said nothing, shoving his free hand—one still occupied in holding the salve to his black eye—in a pocket and veering off to the side and a little ahead, to keep any chance observers from immediately concluding that they were walking together.

"And...I'll be a bit more careful on the sleep thing. Doctor's orders."

"Glad to know you'll take someone's advice, even if you have to almost crack your head open to let the words in far enough."

Vinyáya's step faltered.

Grub stopped in front of her, spinning and holding a hand out to her on instinct. Seeing that she was only startled, not falling, he took it back, keeping it in a fist near his waist, as if he was again on the battlefield against his sprite opponent.

Taking a deep breath, recovering from another set of Grub's cutting words—_gods, where did he learn to do that?_—Vinyáya walked again, ex-lover following her lead. As the sounds of the rest of the LEP neared and a few officers could be seen flitting in a perpendicular corridor ahead, she spoke. "Look, Kelp...our deal is still on. I didn't kick you out." She held her hands behind her back, head high to keep any of the nearby officers from noticing this day's weakness, especially since she was going to have to leave early. "You can come home."

Grub stopped, forcing the woman to halt as well, to remain within the reach of his voice. He turned, eyes narrowed, and stared at her with his lips parted. He opened his mouth further, head moving forward as he tried to get the words out, but all he managed was a confused "Ho...?" several times. After a long pause, he drew himself up to full height, shoulders back, head tilted down a fraction to keep their eyes locked as he spoke softly. "I believe...you are supposed to call me '_Corporal'_ when we're at work, Wing Commander."

"I...." Vinyáya missed a breath, and felt her fingers tingle again at the loss, but quickly drove it away with her next intake. "True." She nodded. "Good evening, Corporal." Her goodbye thus said, Vinyáya strode away, explaining her faint to a few of the more concerned officers as she went.

Unseen, Grub watched her go, face still expressionless. Feeling a miniature wave of cold pass over his eye, he took the cotton swab and salve away, prodding it with his pinky to make sure that the bruise was gone. After only a moment in consideration about putting the last of the salve on one of his sore muscles for the fraction of healing it would give to his aching body, Grub crushed it in his hand, walking out of the side corridor and to the main hall in search of a trash can to dump the medicine before he was tempted again.

All day, he received astonished glances from nearly every officer he came across, and they puzzled him. Had someone somehow discovered his secret? Had Dr. White broken confidentiality in a moment of weakness? Had the salve done something to his face, and the doctor failed to mention the side-effect?

Finally, near the end of his shift, while passing by a trio of female LEPTraffic officers in a corridor, he finally heard the whispers that had been flying all through the Plaza, and he had to grin. He hadn't even realized he was still following Short's orders from the training that morning. A few hours of yelling, and she had broken him of one of his worst habits. Now everyone knew his big secret.

"_Gods_. When did Corporal Kelp get so..._tall?_"

* * *

**Preview: Mix the words up with the actions, do it all for your reaction./ Hey! Get tangled up in me.**


	19. I'm the Girl You Never Get

**AN 1: Short chapter here. Sorry. Tell you what...chapter 20 is done, and it was formerly my favorite chapter (until 17 was written), so I want you all to see that soon. Put in 12 reviews, and I'll post the second I see them. Deal? Deal.**

**AN 2: I originally had Trouble eating a hot dog, and I came across this problem: every synonym of "hot dog" is _really_ dirty, to me, especially when a male is eating. I just couldn't keep going.**

* * *

**Song: "Tangled Up in Me" by Skye Sweetnam**

* * *

**Chapter 19: I'm the Girl You Never Get**

**Week 15**

"Hey, broooooo," Trouble said, pushing on the back of his younger sibling's head as he circled around him, placing a lunch tray on the opposite side of the table.

Grub, unprepared for the attack, buried his nose in what was once a bowl of cereal, but was now only a bowl of soy milk. He snorted the sweetened milk out, flipping his head back. "Oh, come _on_, Trouble!" He grasped at his hair, squeezing it to get rid of the liquid on the fringes, then flipped it back over his head. He was going to stink to high heaven by the end of the day. "Nice. Real nice. Mind dropping the assault next time, and just say 'hi'?" Wary of another attack, he pushed his forgotten food to the side.

Trouble, whose mouth was one-hundred-and-ten percent full of veggie-burger, chewed frantically, taking a large drink of water to help siphon the food down. After pounding on his chest a few times, he escaped choking and sighed in satisfaction. "Sorry. Not allowed. It's an older brother rule."

"And little brothers?"

"Get to annoy the shit out of their elders and betters."

"Am I doing well?"

"Superbly." Taking the time to actually spread his packets of condiments on the remaining half of his burger—having overcome the overpowering need to feed after he missed breakfast that morning—Trouble decided to move onto a new topic. "How's studying going?"

Grub glared at his tablet, which was turned off and sitting to the side, taunting him. "I can't concentrate today."

"Two weeks left, bro," Trouble said around another mouthful, though this time he had restrained himself to a normal-sized bite. "You can't go slacking off now. Vin wont let me come to your rescue, even if I would or could."

"I'm not slacking," Grub protested, "I just...ugh." He cupped his forehead with both hands. "I have a lot on my mind."

Trouble, who had not expected to engage in an extended heart-to-heart with his brother, couldn't help but want to avoid this conversation. He looked down at his food and sighed longingly. If he said the right words, Grub would let everything spill out, and he could continue eating meanwhile. Now...to just say the right words.... "Like?"

Grub clutched at his hair, nearly pulling a good chunk out from the roots. "I just...remember two weeks ago, when I came to stay at your place?"

"Myef," Trouble said around his food.

"Well, you gave me some advice...said I should...." Grub removed one hand from his forehead, rubbing at his neck as he forced out the word. "Date."

"Umf-huf."

"I just...I don't know, Trouble. It sounds...nice, but...well, there _is_ the issueof my...issue," he waved his hand, urging his brother to fill in that blank. When Trouble nodded and took another massive bite (along with a quite clear "NOM!" sound), he went on. "I just...it doesn't seem...fair. For her."

Trouble, finding that his input was needed, swallowed and swished water in his mouth before speaking. "It sounds like you have someone in mind."

Grub blushed. "I-I, n-no! I mean...I don't know!" he wailed, throwing his arms in the air, his head slamming to the table a second later. "If..._when_ she finds out, she'll be so pissed at me...I'll lose what slim chance I _do_ have."

Trouble nodded. "Understandable." At his brother's tortured moan, he went on. "_If_ you go into this without her knowing."

Grub crossed his arms on the table, resting his chin in the middle so he could look up at his brother. "I can't tell anyone, Trouble."

"Not yet, no," the commander agreed. "But the exam is in two weeks, on Friday. The results come in on Monday. Account for a little time for...the third party to make their announcement, and then everyone in Haven should know, say, a month from now."

"...and then?"

"And then, when she knows...." Trouble grinned, and it was that same smug and provocative look that Lili had been so surprised to see on his sibling not long ago. "_Then_ you _pounce._"

Grub frowned. "I don't think I 'pounce,' Trouble."

"No...I gather you jump on command, like a little circus poodle through a hoop."

Grub scowled and was about to protest when his brother reached over and dug a hand in his hair, ruffling it until the orange locks—which he now had to spend a considerable amount of time (for a male) setting into place to keep out of his eyes—were in complete disarray, half falling into his eyes, the rest sticking straight into the air. He accompanied this with a shrill "arf arf!" and snickers.

Blowing at his hair to get a clear line of sight, Grub glared at his brother. "Trubs...you're an asshole."

"Noooooo," Trouble drawled, taking his final bite of food. Small crumbs spewed from his mouth as he spoke, making his finicky younger sibling back away from the table to avoid being hit. "I'm just a big brother."

* * *

Vinyáya took Dr. White's advice to heart. Not only did she bolt her office door at least once a day for a quick nap (though passing out bent over her desk was becoming increasingly difficult), but she also rested on the couch after arriving home for the evening. She wasn't one for decorative pillows, and had actually lost one of the pair that came with her couch (gods knew where, but she'd once had the_ oddest_ dream about flushing a sheep down her recycling lounge...), but found the remaining one quite useful in covering her eyes against the lights Grub would have to turn on when he arrived back at her house. He only needed one or two, but sudden lights were affecting her more, and headaches were becoming a common occurrence.

Her many years of combat training made her snap awake without actually moving when she heard Grub's key slide into the front lock. Vinyáya was completely conscious when the door swung open and Grub entered with a chipper "I'm back."

"Mph," the wing commander grunted, turning onto her back and draping an arm over the pillow to hold it more tightly against her eyes.

"Dinner in an hour," he went on, messenger bag thudding next to the door. His head soon popped into the living room to study her. "Okay?"

Giving him a thumbs up and another affirmative grunt, Vinyáya fought to regain sleep.

Unfortunately, try as Grub might to be quiet, the act of cooking is a rather noisy one. The kitchen was soon filled with the sounds of chopping, sautéing, boiling, and a teapot that wasn't so much whistling as screaming like a stuck pig (at least to the pregnant woman). Under all of this, but still audible, was the flipping of pages as Grub went through whatever book he had chosen to obsess over today.

"Week 15...week 15...hmmm...." He called out to her tentatively. "Vinyáya?"

"What?" she grunted, pressing the pillow tighter.

"Have you felt the baby move yet?"

"No," she said shortly.

Typically, Grub wasn't content to let that go. "Really? You could have started to feel it in the fourteenth week."

"Could have. Did not. Bed now."

"Fine, fine...." Grub went on cooking and flipping pages.

Vinyáya had just begun to enter a nice sleep when she again heard Grub's approaching footsteps. She coached her breathing, resolved to let him think she was unconscious. She even thought she had succeeded when he stopped at her side, not saying anything, and remained there for a half minute. Any moment now, she expected him to leave her in peace.

Then he poked her stomach.

Vinyáya shot up, hand flying to cover the assaulted area. "What the _fuck_, Kelp?"

Grub jumped back. "I was just checking!"

"Checking?" Vinyáya swung her legs about so she sat on the couch, leaning towards her guest. "Checking _what_? The tensile strength of my _uterus_?"

"No!" Grub protested. "I just...the book said the baby will sometimes move if you poke your stomach."

"Oh," she said neutrally, "really? Well, in that case...." Vinyáya lunged forward, hand shooting out. Her index finger dug into Grub's unprotected belly.

"D'arvit!" Grub jumped back again, clutching his abused abs.

"I am _not_," Vinyáya proclaimed, shaking her deadly finger at him, "some sort of Baby Alive doll! Poke me again, and I will bite your finger _off_."

Grub looks at his index finger, and then clutched it in his other hand, holding them close to his chest as he continued to back away. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

"Oh, come _on_," Lili said, slamming her hand down on the desk between them. "Answer the damn question!"

"I don't _know_ the answer, Lili," Grub snapped back, laying his hands palm-up on his desk in supplication. "I _told_ you that already!"

She snorted in disgust. "It's an _interview_. So long as your answer doesn't make you sound insane, it's right. This is the easiest part of the exam! _No one _fails this."

"Yeah? Then why is it even part of the exam?"

"To make sure you're not insane!"

"Well, then woohoo!" Grub cheered, twirling one finger in the air. "I'm gonna _fail_, because I _must_ be insane for trying to get this gods-forsaken promotion."

"You're not insane!" Lili shouted back.

Grub turned his head away. "Yeah. Sure."

Lili sighed, putting her tablet to the side. She moved her chair closer to the desk, leaning over to get closer to her student. "You're _not_," she softly insisted, "believe me." When he didn't respond, Lili reached out and covered Grub's hand with her own. "Listen to me, Grub...."

He didn't want to look at this woman, at first, afraid of the pity he would see written all over her face. So, instead, he looked at their hands. As he watched, she squeezed, that pressure pleading with him far more effectively than any words could. So, biting his lip, Grub looked up into Lili's eyes.

Her smile was small. Tentative. Yet utterly sincere, and that sincerity extended to her shining eyes and gentle words. "I _know_ you can do this, Grub."

Grub could feel his face flushing. There was no way to stop it, and that knowledge made him redden even further, in a self-defeating loop. With an almost painful swallow, Grub turned his hand about so her palm rested against his. He curved his fingers to grip back, the warmth of her hand flooding up his arm. "Thanks...."

"No problem," Lili mumbled, and, for a moment, Grub thought he might also see a tinge of pink in her cheeks. But that couldn't be right. Lili didn't blush. She made _others_ blush, and reveled in it. "Now...answer the question," she said, back to an interviewer's voice, tilting her head to him in a curious and prodding manner. "Why did you decide to seek promotion to Captain?"

Grub began to chew on his lip, trying to think of something. Something that wasn't a lie and that wouldn't get him in trouble for breaking his deal with Vinyáya. After what felt like an eternity, he smiled and looked into Lili's eyes. "My father. He would have wanted me to do this."

After taking the time to mull it over, Lili squeezed Grub's hand again. "You pass."

* * *

**Preview: If you needed love,/ well then ask for love./ Could have given love,/ now I'm taking love./ And it's not my fault, cause you both deserve/ what is coming now,/ so don't say a word....**


	20. You Beat Me At My Own Game

**Song: "Wake Up Call" by Maroon 5**

* * *

**Chapter 20: You Beat Me at My Own Game**

**Week 16**

Grub's head felt like it was about to explode, and his every muscle didn't feel much better. After weeks of preparation, it was down to the wire. In one more week, he would stand for the captain's exam, and then...well, then things were out of his hands.

After another day of intense work at the firing range (the last subject he needed to really pound into, finding himself still several percentages away from a passing grade), Grub got his standard ride home from Lili. He bid her good night and walked slowly up the garden path, intent on a few documents the blond captain had written out for him to restructure his studies , he didn't notice that something was off until he tried to insert his key into the lock and found its way blocked.

He looked down, frowning.

A sticky note covered the deadbolt.

Grub looked at the note for a long time, then finally reached out and yanked it off the door, scowling. He read it.

His world shattered.

_Kelp,_

_Sorry, I need the house for the evening. I'm sure Trouble can put you up for the night._

_Vinyáya_

He knew what he would see when he turned around, but that didn't mean that he did so easily. First, he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. Then he swallowed down his panic. He crushed the note in his palm. Only then did he turn around and see what he had missed while talking with Lili.

Councilman Lope's blue car waited at the curb, it's driver absent.

Grub stared at it a long time. He considered pounding on the door and demanding that Lope come and face him in a battle for the Wing Commander. He considered scratching at the door and begging Vinyáya to kick the other man out. He even considered just going up to the car and practicing his roundhouse kicks on the lights and side panels. After all, Holly _had_ said he needed some extra practice on the move.

Instead, he dropped the crumpled note to the ground. Looking at the ground all the while, Grub walked back along the path and down the street, starting the long walk to downtown Haven.

A mile along the way, he was brought out of his re-running mind in a rather disconcerting fashion. It was like an odd echo of months ago, though this time he wasn't wearing headphones, merely lost in his thoughts. When Lili lay into her horn this time, Grub jumped twice as high and landed facing her in a perfect cat stance.

"Hey. That's an improvement," she said, nodding at his feet. "Holly will be pleased."

Grub took a while to figure out that the only thing attacking him was noise. Once he did, he stood straight and walked to the passenger-side door, kicking the front wheel sullenly as he passed. "I thought you were going home."

"I did, but just to get ready," she said, shrugging and holding a delicately-boned hand up, displaying a startling collection of silver and gold bangles, with another set of similarly-sized black loops hanging from her earlobes. Her hair, normally allowed to hang free, was now pulled up on her head, weaved into thick loops before it fell in loose curls over around her face and down to brush her shoulders. She was also wearing more makeup than she did at work, along with a _much _shorter (and phenomenally tighter) black skirt and a red off-shoulder tee, the material on its front low cut, with extra-loose material at the neckline that created the impression that just a little touch would make the top even lower. It was almost _challenging_ you to make it lower.

It took Grub quite some time to realize that the front of the woman's shirt said, in curving silver script, "Princess." He wanted to laugh at that and ask her if she found it ironic, but realized that this would entail confessing that he had been looking at Lili's ample chest.

"It's Friday night. I'm going out. You?"

Grub looked back at Vinyáya's house. "Not...exactly." He turned back to Lili and smiled, kicking the ground in a long arc. "I'm afraid I've been...ousted for the night. Could you...would you give me a ride to my brother's place?"

Lili studied him. She snorted and shook her head, though she popped the door open. "Hell no. I mean, I could, but...you look like shit. You've been pretty much studying nonstop for the past three months, right?"

Grub slid in next to her, rubbing a hand down his face, as if he could wipe away his mental strain with that movement. "There's a lot to do."

"Bad idea, Grubby boy." Lili clucked her tongue at him. "You need a night off. You are coming to the club with me."

Grub stared at her. "I...no! I couldn't—"

"Shut the hell up, Grub," Lili broke in, looking at him sideways and smiling devilishly. "I don't have an escort tonight, and nothing makes me look better than a man in a uniform." Before Grub could say anything further, she dropped into gear and slammed her foot on the gas, tearing away from the Hills.

* * *

Lope nuzzled at Vinyáya's neck. His salt-and-saffron hair tickled her ears as he lightly nipped the gentle curve of her throat, tightening his arms about her waist. "Are you sure?"

Vinyáya purred, leaning against him, her hands resting on the top buttons of his shirt. "Entirely."

Smirking, Lope began to turn his bites into kisses, a hand grasping the zipper of the councilwoman's skirt, sliding it down in one smooth movement.

Things progressed from there in much the manner that you would expect.

* * *

It was...insanity. Grub had never been to a club before, and he had certainly never been clubbing with Lili Frond, the resident LEP party girl. She seemed to have all of the connections, completely bypassing the insane waiting line, only pausing to hug the bouncer, who affectionately ruffled her hair. An ex, she explained as they had approached, and one of the roughly two percent she left on good terms. As such, the man glared at Grub, though he backed down when Lili shook her finger at him and took the skinny elf's hand, pulling him inside the club.

Grub was glad he wasn't actually OCD, or else he would have had _some sort_ of attack right away. The club was obviously a hundred people over the fire code, and three quarters of those partygoers were crowded onto the dance floor, grinding along to the music. Lili ignored the orgiastic mass, instead taking them to the bar, where she vaulted onto the counter, sitting cross-legged and leaning back so that she looked in past the ordering patrons. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, the sound cutting through the thick nightclub air.

Instantly, like a retriever responding to its masters call, a male sprite with a massive purple mohawk sprang into the air, looking up and down the bar. When he saw Lili, he darted over, fast as a hummingbird on speed, and crashed into the eld woman, wrapping his arms around her. "Calla Lily!" he crowed, shaking her back and forth. When he let go, the sprite remained hovering, looking the woman up and down, giving her a "mmm MMM!" of approval as he held both of her hands. "Smoking as ever. The usual?"

"Sadly, no," Lili sighed, jerking her head in Grub's direction. "Alcohol may be a bad idea tonight. I don't think Kelp could get me home safe."

Grub was mildly offended. "Yes I could!"

The sprite and Lili locked eyes for a few seconds, then broke unto unexplained and uncontrollable laughter. Only when the head bartender looked over did the sprite collect himself, slamming his hand on the table. "Okay! Something light?"

Lili nodded, looking at the array of drinks in the case behind the bar. "For me, yes. A Red and Black and...." She studied Grub, circling her finger in his direction as she thought, pointing at him as she came to her conclusion. "A From Russia with Love, with _extra _love."

The sprite saluted. "_Oui, mon capitan!_" Then he was off to mix.

Grub watched the sprite go, then looked to Lili. "Another ex?" he grumbled

Lili looked at him, eyes wide in shock. "What, Merle? Hell no!" She slid off the counter, taking an actual barstool as her own, patting her hand on the one immediately next to her until her guest took the seat. "The only time he got anywhere near two breasts was when his aunt's laying hen attacked him."

Grub stared at her for quite a while. Then he got it. "Oh!" He looked back at the sprite, who was busy juggling four brightly-colored bottles, pouring them one at a time (using one hand to toss the remaining three) until an entire line of shots were complete, at which point the bar crowd cheered and he took a mid-air bow. "Actually, that...makes a lot of sense." When Merle retuned with their drinks a minute later, Grub did what most straight men unconsciously (and unnecessarily) do in the presence of the other team's players: he tried to avoid looking nervous.

Merle looked him up and down, then snorted. "_So_ not my type, even if you weren't off-limits."

Grub blinked. "Huh?"

Lili poked Merle in the side of the head, pushing him away. "Shoo! You're making things difficult."

"Oh, Calla Lily," the sprite chided, hands on his hips as he shook his head. "This is _never_ difficult for you, so don't even start."

"Off!" Lili barked, though there was laughter in her command. The sprite complied, and the two elves settled into their drinks.

Once the loosening liquid was coursing through their veins (quite a bit more in Grub's, he soon realized), Lili gave a little sigh of satisfaction. She never allowed herself to get truly drunk, anymore, finding herself waking up in a few too many uncomfortable beds when she got trashed. Still, she enjoyed the relaxation that alcohol inspired in her. Especially when it made conversation easier. "So...," she began, smacking her lips, "living with the _Ice Queen_."

Grub was having a hard time determining if he was in adequate control of himself. The last thing he needed this late in the game was to say something to tip Lili off and break the unofficial contract between himself and Vinyáya. So, experimentally, he said, "Yes." Then, finding that his ability to retain secrets was still strong enough, he continued. "It's a good arrangement. I've got a few more weeks before my pay raise kicks in, but I'll be searching for new apartments once the promotion announcement is made."

Lili looked at him. "What? Even if you don't pass? Not that you wont pass! But, you know...contingencies."

Grub took another drink (wishing his martini glass looked a bit more masculine than Lili's highball) before responding. "I've got to. The Wing Commander wont let me stay. It was part of our agreement."

"Agreements change," Lili ventured. "Or they get new terms."

Grub thought about this, but shook his head. "Not with her."

"Hmmm...." Lili looked to the ceiling, then back at Grub, running the tall highball glass on her lower lip. "Then with me."

Grub blinked, taking a long time to process these words. Then he remembered their agreement. He laughed. Then he thought about the laughter. He should not have been this amused by her words. Whatever was in that drink, it was _strong. _"I take the test in seven days, Lili. I don't think you can really alter the study agreement, at this point."

Lili downed the last of her drink and slammed it on the bar. "True!" She nodded much more vigorously than was necessary, wincing as the somewhat harsh grenadine and coffee liqueur passed into her stomach. "But I can put in an addendum."

"Only if I agree to it," Grub countered, also finishing his drink, though he put the martini glass down somewhat more gently. He pushed it away with one finger, wanting to distance himself from the booze as quickly as possible, before things went wrong. "What are you proposing?"

Lili slid off her bar stool and moved to stand in front of Grub, hands on her hips. She leaned over so their faces were close enough to feel each other's breath. "I actually drive you to your brother's, once the alcohol is out of my system, if...."

Grub raised his eyebrows at the pause. "If...?"

"If," Lili said, taking both of the man's hands and pulling him from his seat, "you dance with me." She began to drag him to the floor.

Grub pulled back, suddenly realizing that he might actually be stronger than Lili. He stood straight, and found that her efforts could not make him move. It was gratifying, except that he couldn't escape her hands (he made a mental note to go over escape techniques before the test). "No! I can't dance!"

"Bull!" Lili laughed, throwing her entire body weight behind the tug-of-war, and making no progress. "You told me you could when I was teaching you to shoot!"

"That was ballroom dancing!" He looked to the massed clubbers. "I can't..._grind_. I don't have the rhythm!"

Lili frowned, halting.

Grub sighed in relief and stopped fighting.

With a mighty tug, Lili pulled the now-unprepared Grub until he fell into her, their bodies pressed together and their faces now so close that foreheads rested together, forcing them to look deep into each other's eyes. The only thing keeping their lips apart was a bare hair's breadth of air.

"Prove it," Lili whispered in challenge, eyelids half-lowered.

Grub swallowed. "O...okay."

* * *

"So...." Lope said, trailing his fingers along Vinyáya's leg. "Good?" He tilted his head—propped up with the other hand—so his hair fell across his eyes in an almost boyish manner, the look matured by a smug grin.

She smirked at him, pleased with life in general and ready to tease. "Not bad...."

Lope laughed, placing a hand on the woman's back and pulling her to him. "Oh, admit it, Arnica. You enjoyed that quite a lot."

Vinyáya continued to smile, burying her head in his chest, but said no more.

* * *

Grub failed to prove that he had no rhythm, though it took a quick lesson from Lili for him to fail completely.

"No," she whispered, taking Grub's hands, which had been dangling limply at his side, and placing them low on her hips. "Here."

Grub looked down and swallowed.

"And these," Lili continued, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling his head down so their noses rested side-to-side. "Here."

"This is highly inappropriate," Grub whined, eyes darting about the club.

"I know," Lili breathed, moving her legs so one slid between Grub's, with one of his copying the position so that their hips fit together. "Isn't it great?"

Grub wondered if it was the alcohol that was making him feel so warm, or other things. A mix, he decided. He liked mixes. "Yeah." He tightened his grip on Lili's hips, bringing her closer as they moved to the music, grinding against one another. He began to feel dizzy with the liquor and the lights and this woman pressed up against him. Her mouth was covered in raspberry lipgloss and he could almost taste it. He could...her lips were so...almost...he _wanted_ to....

* * *

Grub opened his eyes and immediately regretted the decision. He groaned, covering his face with a satin pillow.

His fingers scrabbled over the pillow's material. Satin. He owned no satin pillows.

Grub shot up in bed and looked down. No shirt. Covered in satin sheets. He lifted the sheets. No pants, though he maintained boxers.

Timidly, he looked to the spot beside him in the bed.

No one.

"...huh?" he said to the room at large. Then he looked around the room. It was..._huge_. The sort of thing you would expect from Fowl. Easily the size of any _apartment_ he would be able to afford. At least the satin theme only extended to the bed, in the color purple, the rest of the room done in white marble floors and red walls accented with gold foil designs. Otherwise, it seemed a spartan place, except for a desk situated next to one of the many windows, though he suspected the plain-looking doors tucked into one corner would open onto the biggest shower and closet he had ever seen. Quarters like these demanded ludicrous amenities.

Grub wasn't tempted to explore, except to get himself back to decency. Moving quietly, he slid out of the bed and began searching the room for his clothes. "D'arvit," he hissed, lifting the bedskirts. Not an article of clothing was to be found. The closet proved empty, while the shower only had a pair of towels, and even the desk was bare (why he looked there, he wasn't sure, unless it was desperation).

Well...there was no denying where he _was_, so at least that meant he was close to his proper sleeping place. There may be some awkward questions to answer when the Principality Hill homeowners association came to Police Plaza with a video of him running barefoot and boxer-clad down the streets, but he could probably make it home before the Hill security guards caught him.

Probably.

Grub opened the door in increments until he was able to stick his head outside. He looked up and down the cherrywood hall, studying the portoro marble flooring and cursing the lack of carpets. Carpets muffled footsteps wonderfully, and so would some paintings on these long halls. He hadn't seen this much wood used for construction in _years. _Still, he was an officer. He could do stealth...right?

Moving with exaggerated care, looking remarkably like an actor in a comedy trying to escape a similar situation, Grub made his way down the hall. He could see a pair of ornate carved-wood doors at the end. Freedom.

He passed out of the hall and into the grand entryway.

"Wow..." a voice said to his side. "You really suck at stealth. No wonder you didn't go for Recon."

Grub yelped, once again jumping into the air and turning to face Lili Frond, who was draped sideways on an enormous (almost human-sized) armchair. She waved at him with the spoon she was using to eat her cereal.

"Your clothes are on the statue of Anubis," Lili answered before Grub had the presence of mind to ask, indicating it with her toes.

"Oh," he replied.

"You seemed to think it was a coat rack." She stirred the cereal, blinking rapidly at her own odd words. "Though I've no idea why you put your pants and shoes on it, if you thought so." She shrugged and took another bite of breakfast.

"Oh," Grub replied again.

"You just," Lili began, then took a moment to be polite, swallowing her food. "You just heard 'your room is the third on the right,' saluted me, and stripped before going in and passing out."

"Oh," Grub said for a third time. Then, "Oh!" In his head, he praised the gods, promising to leave an offering at someone's temple.

Lili stared at him for a while. Then she gestured towards the newly-appointed coat rack. "Mind making yourself decent? I'm not fond of fish."

Grub looked down at his trout-covered boxers and flushed. He scrambled to the coat rack and was clothed in moments.

Lili looked up and away, as if putting on his clothing was a more personal moment for her guest than standing about like an idiot with no pants, and continued chewing on her granola.

Once back in his office clothes, Grub stood before Lili, rubbing the back of his head. "Er...I had fun. Thanks." He held out a hand, as if to shake.

Lili looked at it for a moment. Then she smacked Grub's hand with the curved back of her spoon. "You suck at this," she commented, drinking her cereal milk.

Grub stared. "At...what?" Oh, gods, did he...did they do it in her car or something?

"Girl friends." At his panicked look, she repeated the words with a pronounced pause between them. "You know. Girls who are friends. Without screwing."

"Oh." That was, apparently, Grub's favorite word of the day. "Yeah, I...don't have many."

"I think you mean 'any.' Or you didn't." She put her bowl down on the coffee table and pushed herself up on the tall arm rest, kicking her legs as she enjoyed being a head above Grub. He really was inconveniently tall, if you wanted to be superior. If you wanted other things, then maybe not, but that wasn't on the agenda today. "So, lesson one: stop being an idiot."

"I'll...try?" Grub half-smiled.

"Good enough. Lesson two: get sexier boxers. If you can't hold your liquor, I do not want to look at an entree. Black with flames are good."

"If we're not going to...er..._yeeeeeeah_, why does it matter if my boxers have fish on them?" He was briefly tempted to hold his pants away from his waist and inspect them. They didn't seem so ridiculous when he bought them.

"_Because_," Lili said, rolling her eyes, "everyone appreciates a good-looking package, even if they're not going to unwrap it."

Grub's eyes went wide. "Not going...." he began, but it was so lacking in air that Lili failed to hear.

"Now," the Frond heir pointed back down the hall of the family mansion, "the kitchen is the fourth door on the right. Eat quickly. We're going to the firing range.

Grub wilted. "But...it's _Saturday_. And I think I might be hung over!"

"Grub," Lili said, rolling her eyes. "If you don't _know_ that you're hung over, then you are _not_ hung over. As for Saturday, I pulled a few favors. Holly is going to give you shooting lessons. You still need to get your scores up another three percent."

Grub whimpered. "I think...this is the worst morning of my life."

* * *

Vinyáya slowly opened her eyes and looked over at the peaceful, still-sleeping face of Councilman Lope. He was smiling, one arm draped over her shoulders.

She carefully moved that arm aside and sat on the side of the bed, letting her hair fall around her shoulders. Putting her hands on her spine, she leaned back, groaning as she heard several popping noises. While this made her back unwind, tension was increased on her front in an altogether unfamiliar manner.

Reluctantly, looked down. There was no denying it, the bulge in her stomach was growing. She had taken to wearing thick jackets to work, and they were mostly effective in helping her avoid discovery, as the rest of her body remained as taut as ever. She knew this could only work for so long, though, and the point at which she would no longer be able to deny the change in her shape was rapidly approaching. In the darkness of her bedroom and the heat of the moment, Lope had failed to notice, but now Vinyáya slid out of bed to retrieve a thick bathrobe. The pink material looked horrific on her, but it hid her roundness.

Tugging the tie snug about her waist, she looked at Lope lying on his stomach, the covers draped over his lower half. He hadn't noticed the absence of a second warm presence in the bed. Vinyáya considered climbing back in, but how would she explain her desire to put the robe on? And how could she halt things if he awoke for a second round with the rising artificial lights of Haven streaming in through her bedroom window? Far too dangerous.

She needed to get out of there. She needed some time alone. Deciding fresh air would help calm her suddenly fraying nerves, Vinyáya made her was quickly to the front door.

Haven didn't have weather, but its temperature could vary, depending on what the nearby magma chutes were doing, and the air was pleasantly warm as she opened the door. The feel of it in her lungs instantly calmed the woman. No one was up this early on a Saturday, and the solitude wrapped around her. She sighed, relieved, and took a step out.

Vinyáya did an odd hop as her foot came down on something with pointy—though not hard—edges. Scowling, the woman looked down.

A crumpled sticky note waited on the stoop.

Carefully, Vinyáya sat and picked up the note, spreading it out over her knee. She saw her handwriting and flipped it over, expecting to see a reply. An insult. A threat. Something.

Nothing.

Vinyáya stared at the note for a long time. Whenever her mind went a fraction of an inch in one direction, it was as if something snapped the thoughts back to one simple word: _Nothing_.

Without thinking of what she was doing, Vinyáya spread trembling fingers over her stomach, feeling the undeniable roundness beneath her obscuring robe.

Inside, Vinyáya thought she felt a flutter of movement.

It was the worst morning of her life.

* * *

**Preview: You'd think that I'd learn the cost of love./ Paid that price long enough,/ but still I drive myself right through the pain./ ****Yeah, well it turns out, I haven't learned a thing.**


	21. I Haven't Learned a Thing

**Song: "Learn my Lesson" by Daughtry**

* * *

**Chapter 21: I Haven't Learned a Thing  
**

**Week 17**

It was easily the most horrific six days of his life. Grub spent all of Saturday and Sunday in the company of Lili and Holly, taking test run after failed test run at the shooting range, interspersed with quizzes on Haven law and LEP procedures. His sparring with Holly was adequate, she claimed, but he noticed she kept looking at Lili and shaking her head after each set. Not good.

Monday through Thursday was nothing but shooting and quizzes, with Holly claiming that too much exercise right before the exam would tax his muscles, making it _more _likely that he would have problems. When Lili dropped him off at Vinyáya's on Thursday night, Grub was certain he would never be able to sleep. Instead, the second he settled on the bed for a breather between reviews, he was out, only waking again thirty minutes before Lili was supposed to pick him up.

Grub rushed through making an omelet for Vinyáya_,_ and was out of the door at a run, two pieces of toast flopping in his mouth as he shrugged on his work jacket while also trying to keep his messenger bag from falling to the ground.

"You're going to do fine, Grub," was the first thing that Lili said as he slid into the car and began to cram his toast down like it would disappear if it was not in the protective confines of his stomach. It was also the second, third, and fourth thing she said. Around the tenth time she said, it, Grub was beginning to think she was trying to reassure herself, which did not reassure _him_.

The traffic that morning was horrible. They arrive at Police Plaza with little time to spare. Grub barreled down the hallways, bag slamming against his hip as he went, Lili trailing behind him.

"Grub!" she shouted several times, becoming more irritated with each repetition.

He did not slow down, which meant that he almost slammed into the line of officers waiting to take the exam. The pixie on the end glared at him, looking the annoyingly tall elf up and down. Then he noticed Lili as she joined them and his eyebrows shot up. He took another appraising look at the test-taker, wondering about the presence of Frond with this male.

"Your bag," Lili gasped, holding out her hand.

"Oh!" Grub took his messenger bag off and handed it off. "Thank you, Lili. I can't say how much I appreciate..." he stopped himself. Babbling. Now, of all times. He smiled instead. "Thank you."

"No problem." She gave him a little salute and began walking up the line of waiting officers.

Commander Verres—head of LEPTraffic—came out of the door at the end of the line and looked at the day's candidates, arms crossed and scowling. This was the most action-filled day of his year, and he milked it for every bit of anxiety it was worth. "Is everyone ready?"

Lili paused in her retreat, fingers tapping against Grub's bag at her side. She looked to Verres, clapping her hands together in a quick plea. "One sec!" She darted back down the line.

Grub felt at his pockets. Had he forgotten something? Some folded-up note or maybe writing on the back of his hand, anything that would get him disqualified? If so, how did Lili know?

She stopped in front of him, smiling wildly. Her breath was labored, making her face flush. "Stupid of me. I forgot to give you this."

Lili threw her arms around Grub's neck and kissed him.

Grub froze, staring at her, leaning back as Lili's entire body pressed to his. Then he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the small elf's waist, almost lifting his tutor off her toes as he returned the kiss. Grub groaned as their mouths parted a fraction and her tongue tickled against his. She tasted of raspberries. _Gods_, he loved raspberries.

"Ah _HEM!_" Verres coughed, tapping his foot.

Lili broke away, blushing, and backed out of Grub's arms. "Er...yes. Good luck!" She clapped him on the back and took off down the hall, leaving Grub to stare after while all of the officers who had witnessed the interchange stared at Grub, mouths open. Little Kelp and Princess Frond...blasphemy.

"Riiiiiight," the commander drawled. "Well...what are you all waiting for? I'd like to get this test done by the end of the work day, so _MOVE IT!_"

Grub barely kept upright, phenomenally dazed. The second he passed though the door, he crashed to the first empty seat he could find. After breathing in deeply through his nose, he looked at the front of the classroom. The whiteboard proclaimed that they were about to fall victim to the "LEP Captain's Exam: Part 1. Laws and LEP regulations."

Grub smirked and let the tension flow out of his body. He could do this.

If he could just stop thinking about how much his lips were tingling....

* * *

He left the regulations exam with a swagger in his step. His last review on confiscating smuggled items was entirely worth the lost thirty minutes of sleep two nights ago before.

He was less confidant about the physical exam. Half of the other candidates had passed the finish line before him, and the frowning face of the examiner as he vaulted the last wall was not very promising.

He took as many hits in the sparring match as he gave, so that seemed to be a wash, though Grub had to admit that he was proud of himself. He would have completely failed that portion if not for Vein's beating. It was a very odd thing to be thankful for.

The interview was nerve-wracking. Lili had tried to walk him through this several times, stressing that it was purely to test his mental stability. Despite this, all he could do was think _They're going to find out! They're going to find out about Vinyáya and she is going to _kill_ me!_ The fact that Councilman Lope had joined in as the government representative did _not_ help. Grub had honestly been hoping for Vinyáya, or even the bristly Cahartez, not the man that was friendly in the sheets with the mother of his child. When Corporal Kelp was asked why he was seeking this promotion straight to captain, he had the insane urge to say, as casually as possible "Well, I knocked up your girl, so I need the extra cash. By the way, did you figure out that thing she does when you tug on both of her earlobes?"

He restrained himself. At the end of the interview, he snapped a salute, turned about, and promptly fell over his chair. When he popped up and scurried out, the laughter of the panel followed him for the length of the hall.

And then...marksmanship. Years ago, when Holly had been vying for her promotion, this portion of the exam had been technically impossible. She had been the only lieutenant to pass, and that was because she had destroyed the examining screen, taking advantage of a nice loophole in the rulebook (she seemed to do that a lot, noting how she got into Recon). Now the range was easier, but by no means easy, and it was here that half of the fairies who passed the other four potions of the exam failed. As the other other candidates lined up, flipping randomly assigned guns between their hands to re-familiarize themselves with the weight, Grub stared ahead at the screen, trying to remember the previous thousand times he had gone through the program. He was able to finish the exercise consistently, but had never managed to come in at more than 73% accuracy, and 75% was the passing level. He was not a religious elf, but he sent what he felt was a rather ironic prayer to Artemis and Apollo.

The elf took a deep breath and slid the noise-canceling headphones over his ears. Taking aim at the screen, he stood frozen, waiting for the signal.

It came as a series of beeps remarkably similar to the four starting sirens at a car race. At the last, higher-pitched tone, enemies began swarming onto the screen. He opened up with his tri-barrel blaster, filling the screen with flashes of light as the targets fell before him. His mind narrowed to a pinpoint, only allowing for instinctive aiming.

Ten minutes later, the last gnome fell and Grub allowed himself a deep inhalation, which immediately descended into hyperventilation. He staggered away from the screen, dripping sweat, and leaned against the back wall. He clutched at his chest, trying to breath regularly, his vision swimming.

The other officers calmly put their guns back in their hip holsters and looked at him, laughing amongst themselves, watching the Commander's little brother breaking down.

_Done_. Whatever the results, he was _done_. He felt a little panic over the idea of failing, but the biggest wash of relief he had ever experienced overtook that fear. Knowing that his work was over was one of the best feelings he had ever experienced. He could go home, fall onto his bed, and sleep until Monday.

The rest of the officers had filed out by the time he was finally in control and returned his gun to the front desk. Free of that minor burden, he straightened up and staggered out of the range, nodding at the officer monitoring this exam as he went. The pixie was stony-faced, like every other proctor in this process. He would have no clues about his results until Trouble called him into his office after the weekend was over.

Lili and Holly were waiting outside, the higher officer standing aloof, but Frond's eyes shone as Grub stepped out. She darted forward, grabbing his hands. "How did you do?"

"I—"

"None of that, Lili," Trouble boomed out from the side, breaking them apart and wrapping an arm around his little brother's shoulders. "You've had him enough for the past few months. It's time for a boys' night out." He put a finger to Lili's nose, pushing her back.

Lili pouted, shaking her head to free it. "But Trouble...."

"I am not to be swayed," Trouble reaffirmed, steering Grub away from his friend. "Boys only. He'll see you on Monday."

Lili tried to protest again, but the brothers were already near the end of the hall, a dozen other officers now between them.

"Trouble," Grub said, his steps unsteady. "I just want to _sleep_."

"You will, Grub," Trouble whispered. "Just thought being at the Wing Commander's would be a bad idea."

Grub was about to ask why when they turned the corner and walked along the grand entryway to the Plaza. Then he understood.

Vinyáya leaned against the far wall, Councilman Lope standing in front of her, propping himself up with one hand next to her head. She was blushing and talking rapidly, occasionally averting her eyes, then looking back up at him, full of wickedness. Lope seemed to be responding to this without any concerns for the reports that would appear in the tabloids. He reached out, tucking a strand of Vinyáya's hair behind one ear, lingering next to the sensitive tip for longer than was appropriate in public before curving his finger under her chin, lifting it up so he could lean in for a long kiss. She opened her mouth to him immediately, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling the man in tighter to her body.

"Oh," Grub muttered, leaning against his brother for support as they walked past. "Thanks."

* * *

**Preview: Sometimes we fall,/ ain't nothing new to me./ Don't get me wrong....**


	22. Sometimes We Fall

**Sorry for the delay. I moved this week (Yay! Not living with my future mother-in law!), and the Internet isn't set up yet. Expect the next chapter, and my review replies, on Monday or Tuesday. Come on...give me plenty to reply to! This is a comment-worthy chapter!**

* * *

**Song: "Better Luck Next Time" by Lifehouse**

* * *

**Chapter 22: Sometimes We Fall**

**Week 18**

Grub spent that entire weekend asleep on Trouble's couch, only waking to scarf down a sandwich before retreating to the lumpy cushions. Trouble, for his part, was quiet, turning away all well-wishers and after-exam revelers so he could keep an eye on his younger brother. He needn't have worried too much unless the mustard ran out, because Grub was far too involved in recovering to care about being alone or in good company.

When Monday morning came, Trouble finally shook his brother awake, handing him a clean office uniform. "I've got to be in an hour before you, to get the results for Recon and Retrieval," he murmured, mindful of the still-present bags under his sibling's eyes. "I'll see you in my office in a bit."

Grub sat up and clutched the clothes to his chest. He nodded.

Trouble looked at him for a long time, then shook his head, leaving the apartment as swiftly as he could. Grub was distracted by the coming results, but Trouble was also in turmoil. What would he do if his little brother failed? Could he force a double-promotion through? Or even just get him in as a lieutenant? What would the feminine side of their deal do in that case? Nothing good, Trouble was sure.

Grub took a long time getting started, and spent a good half-hour standing in the shower, shaking. Every one of his nerves was raw, the slightest prodding threatening to set him off. He thought about staying in and letting Trouble call with the results, but the idea of being alone when an apology and comforting words about trying next time came scared him. So he finally stepped out, getting dressed even before he was all the way dry. Then he grabbed a final sandwich and walked to Police Plaza, nibbling whenever his stomach didn't threaten to turn inside out.

He didn't bother checking out his paperwork pile, as he was sure that, after three months, it would be horrendous. Instead, Grub went to the hall outside Trouble's office, where the other test candidates were lined up, whispering amongst themselves. The confidence they had shown a few days ago was gone, and all looked a bit green, though the loud burps from a few showed that the tinge was more from a weekend-long bender than true nerves.

Grub slumped down to the floor, burying his head between his knees, and waited. Every few minutes, he dry-heaved, but nothing came up.

Trouble's secretary came out, popping a large sphere of bubblegum that perfectly matched her hair in color. "Abarat, Acacia."

An elf jolted and stood up, following the secretary into the office. He looked over his shoulder before he was out of view, giving his companions a quick thumbs-up. Most of them returned the gesture, grinning.

Five minutes later, he came out, eyes on the floor, and refused to glance their way as he walked down the hall as fast as his feet could carry him.

The entire hall grew tense at this ill omen. A class full of failing officers was not uncommon.

"Barrigan, Pyrite."

A pixie surged forward, steps clumsy. He didn't give a parting glance, but when he came out he threw his hands in the air. The hall cheered for him and the new captain swaggered off to his workstation.

It went like this for the next half-hour. Only about a quarter of the officers came out in triumph, and each failure made Grub clutch tighter at his knees. A quarter...there was no chance.

"Kelp, Grub."

At first, he couldn't get up, his knees jelly. A kind officer came over and hoisted him, slapping the elf on his back and murmuring encouragement. Once on his feet, Grub was able to stagger into the office, where he collapsed into the chair before Trouble, ignoring the bend in its back that made his spine groan.

Trouble watched him for a long time, then looked down at his clasped hands. "Grub, I just want to say that I am...impressed. I have never seen an officer more dedicated to this test. The progress you made these past three months has been...amazing." He paused, then gave a weak smile. "Dad would be proud of you, too."

Grub blinked, suddenly realizing that his eyes were on the verge of spilling tears. He didn't try to hide this, merely wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. "T-thanks."

"I know...the next year is going to be...hard on you." Trouble swallowed, looking away from his brother. "So I wanted to give you this." He opened a desk drawer and took out a small black velvet sack, laying it on the table in front of Grub. "It's not much, but it will help."

Grub stared at the bag, dimly hearing the clink of metal on wood through velvet. Gold, by the sound. Coins. He bit his cheeks, letting tears fall freely. "I...I don't need that. I'll be fine."

"Yes," Trouble insisted, pushing the bag further forward, "you_ do_. Take it, just for a little while, so you can get all settled. Then you can give it back."

Grub considered throwing the purse at his brother's head. He didn't need Trouble's _money!_ Instead, in the interest of diplomacy, he picked the bag up by its ties and stood. "Thank you, Commander." He turned and walked towards the door, letting the coins slap against his leg.

They felt rather...odd. A lot of bumps. Very pointy. Quite light, actually, and not jingling at all. That was just all wrong, unless his brother was a cheapskate, and Trouble was generous as a rule. Grub stopped at the exit and untied the strings, opening the bag. He stared inside.

Grub saw tarnished gold, his eyes following the curves of the acorns. He read the Gnommish letters at top panel: "Kelp."

Grub stopped moving and he stopped breathing.

Behind him, Trouble stood, the amusement finally escaping into his formerly serious voice. "They were dad's, and I used them at my promotion, too. It takes some time to get a set of engraved acorns, and I thought you'd like to have these for the ceremony, even if they're second-hand. You'll have enough to deal with, what with all the paperwork I'm going to throw at you..._Captain_."

Grub whirled, tears flying off his cheeks as he faced his brother. "I passed?"

Trouble grinned. "_Barely_."

"I PASSED!" Grub flew across the room, vaulting Trouble's desk, and slammed into his brother, arms wrapping him up in a crushing hug. "I PASSED!"

Trouble wheeze, backing up and nearly tripping over his chair. He brought his arms up to hold his brother, practically cradling him as he staggered under the sudden weight. "Well aware. Breath is nice. Necessary, even."

"Sorry!" Grub let his brother go, dropping back to the floor. "I can't believe...I...." He began to laugh hysterically. Not as in "laughing a lot," though he was doing that. As in "laughing like someone who has just lost his freaking mind."

Trouble grabbed his brother's office jacket lapel, pulling it to the side. "Give that here," he ordered, taking the velvet sack. Trouble fished the ancient acorns out, flipping the pin open. With great silent fanfare, he pierced the jacket, locking the gold into place on his little brother's chest. He let the jacket go and slapped Grub's shoulder. "There! Looks good. How does it feel, Captain?"

Grub nodded, as if that was a yes/no question, hiccuping out sobs. "G-great. I...I'm going to my office and faint, okay?"

Trouble gave his brother a thumbs up. "You go do that."

* * *

The actual promotion ball would not be held for another three weeks, but every officer could now see the list of fairies whom had past the captain's exam. Despite being primarily male, the LEP was populated almost exclusively by gossip-mongers, and these became hooked on the results and the recordings of the exam. A few of the more industrious picked through Grub's written portions, trying to find any evidence of tampering, and ranting that there was some sort of very clever conspiracy to hide this evidence in an undiscoverable fashion. These fairies were basically ignored or, if Lili, Holly, or Trouble were nearby, discretely smacked across the head.

Most, however, were whispering to each other in astonishment as they went through the results together. This was the case when Wing Commander Vinyáya entered the office of one of her subordinate pilots and found said pilot and one retrieval officer sitting behind the desk, hunched over it and watching a computer screen.

Vinyáya sighed. Her employees should have been better about making sure they were at least _feigning_ industriousness, given that their boss was on the legislative body that could hit them with budget cuts if it decided the LEP didn't need as much money (and employee time) to perform its duties. "Lieutenant Clay, where are those reports I asked you to send me five _hours_ ago?"

Clay jumped, his wings flapping in alarm, seeking to take him away from danger. His pixie friend didn't have such a convenient escape, but he also didn't have this woman as his direct superior, so he merely remained silent, praying for invisibility.

"Sorry, Wing Commander! I'll send those over in just a sec!"

"No hurry," she snapped, walking around the sprite's desk, pushing his chair aside with her foot so he drifted across the floor, spinning, his face more horrified with each revolution. "I _must_ see what you found so _fascinating_ that you wasted half of my workday. This should be interesting." Ignoring his protests, Vinyáya leaned over next to the pixie (who shrunk to an even smaller size) and inspected the screen.

It was a media player, and the video wasn't of the best quality, so at least Clay wasn't watching a blockbuster movie. In the middle was a single elf, though the elbows of two other fairies could be seen to either side. He wore noise-canceling headphones and held a tri-barrel blaster, staring down the firing range, where holographic targets would soon appear. Just as Vinyáya realized whom she was looking at, a countdown appeared in the lower-left of the screen, and she couldn't take her eyes away. 3. 2. 1.

The elf began to fire. Vinyáya noted a few errors in his posture that she was frankly horrified that Short hadn't corrected, but the male's focus never wavered. He barely twitched to aim, the holograms exploding into red sparks as each was hit. And each was hit, though a few took multiple shots.

The entire routine was only a few minutes long, and, by the time it was nearing completion, Lieutenant Clay had wheeled back over, curious about the recording. If the Wing Commander was entranced, it must have been amazing. He was disappointed. Except for the elf collapsing against a wall, nothing of note happened while Clay watched. He didn't even blow non-existent smoke off the gun in a show of badass-ery.

A few seconds later, text was laid over the screen: "Grub Kelp, Captain's exam. Marksmanship. Accuracy: 75.01%. Final result: Pass."

"Well, well," Vinyáya said, standing straight and resting both hands on her hips. "He did it." She smiled, shaking her head. "Huh."

* * *

**Week 19**

It took an entire week for Grub to catch up with his paperwork. Considering his three months of leave, with even more coming in because of his status as Captain Kelp, this was actually sort of impressive. If you were into the paperwork scene. During this time, he came in early, left late, and spent almost every hour at work in his office, including his breaks. Admittedly, there was a lot of avoidance behavior in this. Grub could tell that life was about to get a _bit_ complicated. He had a feeling for these sorts of things.

After his weekend at Trouble's, Grub had gone back to Vinyáya's house, but this wasn't as tense as it might initially seem. Vinyáya was nowhere to be seen. If the tabloids were correct, she was sleeping a bit further up on the Hill, spending the nights with a certain Councilman. Grub scowled every time he saw one of the headlines (all of which, in his mother's characteristic style, insulted the Wing Commander's figure, hair, politics, and ability to keep her legs closed in a few short words), but said nothing.

He rarely saw Lili, as Grub was jogging to work and home on his own, now that he had less exercise to do while at work. The first day, he left a note for her on Vinyaya's door, explaining his paperwork binge, but he doubted it appeased her too much. Still, she never came into his office, busy herself with setting Holly up for the promotion ceremonies.

Trouble popped in every so often to ask if there had been any developments on the paternity front, but things had gone quiet on all sides. Vinyáya had never said _when_ she would do the big reveal, and she had never promised to tell about it being Grub. Given the fact that she was so close with Lope, Grub wasn't all that hopeful. Telling the Councilman that she was pregnant with another man's child (even if it was conceived before they began seeing each other) was going to be tense enough. Saying she lived with the father (even if he would be moving out once his first full paycheck came in) was not _exactly_ the best news to give to a lover.

So Grub entered his second week as a captain with a sense of dread covering him everywhere he went. Perhaps that was why he forgot to bring in his lunch on Monday. When he noted this, Grub began cursing, going on for an impressive length of time. Then he sulked into the cafeteria.

It was packed, and Grub was not pleased with the array of fairies he saw inside. Fowl, Short, Vein, Trouble, and, worst of all, Vinyáya. His eyes darted around and saw that there were a few small tables empty, so he picked up a tray, got his food, and settled down for a solitary lunch.

Just as he was opening his mouth wide to chomp into a particularly thick sandwich, he heard a soft, cool voice behind him. "Grub?"

Forgetting to close his mouth or put down the sandwich, Grub turned his head to see Lili Frond standing behind him, holding her own tray of food.

She bit her lip. "Er...can we...talk?"

Eventually, he managed to nod. Then he remembered his mouth, closing it, and nodded faster.

Frond let out a long breath, but it didn't seem to remove any of her tension. She put her tray on the table, but to the side, allowing her to look at Grub without the interference of good. "Look, Grub...the kiss...."

_The kiss_. He set down his sandwich, also moving his tray to the side, but couldn't think of anything to say.

A few feet away, Vinyáya was standing from her place with Fowl and Short, holding onto an empty glass. "Be right back," she said and turned towards the juice bar.

Vein, who was at the table just behind, speaking rather loudly with Trouble, paused that conversation, looking back at the Wing Commander. "More smoothie? That's got to be your third glass this meal. You look like you're about to spring a leak, too!" He guffawed at his own joke, seeing as no one else was.

Lili rested both hands on the edge of the table, drumming her fingers. "I didn't want to say anything before the test. You had enough going on, but...I just wanted to...." She laughed, covering her face with a hand. "What in the gods' names am I doing?"

Vinyáya looked down at Vein, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?" She really wanted that smoothie, if only to dump it over the sprite's head.

"Way water-logged, I mean," Vein said, as stupid about females as he usually was. He pointed towards her stomach. "I know women hate it when you talk about their weight, but you go on enough missions that you _really _need to watch it. You look like you're pregnant, Wing Commander!"

Lili slammed her hands on the table and continued. "I wanted to kiss you. A lot. For a while. You...I...." She turned crimson and looked down at the table space between them. "I really enjoyed helping you with the exam. And not just studying, I mean driving together, talking...it was really...fun." Her eyes darted up and she smiled nervously.

Grub was completely shocked by the revelation, but excited beyond belief. He scooted further up in his seat, leaning towards his companion. "Really? I liked it, too! You're just so—"

"That's because I _am_ pregnant, Vein."

The cafeteria went silent.

Grub was frozen for a few moments. His mouth went as dry as Death Valley at noon, and his skin felt twice as prickly as it would if he were under that sun. The new captain turned his head to look at Vinyáya and Vein. His reaction wasn't out of place, as _everyone_ was now looking at them, including Lili.

Vein shrunk away from the Wing Commander, hands held up, as if to ward off the responsibility that was obviously not his. A purely instinctive reaction for the bachelor major. "You...what?" He managed to remember that he had no part in the proceedings, so Ash asked what he felt was the next logical question. "Lope?"

Vinyáya sighed, rubbing between her eyebrows. "No, Vein. I'm four months along."

Vein gaped. "You..._knew_ about this before you started dating him, didn't you?" He laughed, looking back at Trouble, who was obviously not as amused over the revelation. "Can you believe that!? Who _is_ the father, then, Vinyáya? Wait! Don't tell me...old Trub's here."

Trouble stood, eyes darting to Grub. "Shut _up_, Vein!"

"Woah!" The sprite held his hands up in surrender. "Cool it! Joking." He looked back to Vinyáya. "So...who?"

Everyone looked at her.

Except for Grub, who turned to Lili, grabbing her hand. "Lili, listen!"

She took her eyes away from the scene, blinking in confusion. He wanted to interrupt _this_ level of drama for a conversation that could wait fifteen seconds? "Huh?"

"Lili, I—"

"Grub Kelp," Vinyáya said simply.

There was more silence in the cafeteria.

Except for Vein, who roared with laughter. "Oh, come on, Wing Commander! Who is it, really?"

Lili stared at Grub, breathing hard. Each exhale caught in her throat, making her entire body jerk.

"I'm serious, Vein. Grub Kelp is the father."

Vein stopped laughing and wheeled about to look at Grub. "_Him?_"

Everyone looked at Grub.

Especially Lili, though it was uncertain if she could see him through the tears brimming in her eyes.

"Lili," he whispered, squeezing her hand tighter. "Lili, I—"

"_SHUT UP!_" she screeched, tearing her hand away. "Just _shut up_, you bastard!" Lili sprang from the table, backing several steps away, nearly tripping over her feet as she tried to escape. "How _could_ you!?"

Grub stood, hand outstretched. "Lili, wait!"

Lili Frond spun and sprinted from the cafeteria, slamming through the double doors and into the halls.

"Lili!" Grub ran after, completely forgetting the scene that had just taken place.

Vinyáya stared at them. "What...in the gods' names just happened?"

Artemis stabbed at his lunch, scowling. "Nothing major. Just your usual, of late. Not paying attention and ruining everything."

Vinyáya stared at him, uncomprehending. Then her eyes went wide as she looked back to the still-swinging cafeteria door. "Oh...no."

* * *

**Preview: I never believed that there was a rainbow/ with a pot of gold at the end./ I'm much too smart for fairy tales like that,/ yet here I am again./ I thought this time, this time we're gonna make it./ Why I thought so I really don't know./ Maybe something in his eyes just told me so./ ****Something in his eyes...**


	23. I'm Much Too Smart For Fairy Tales

**Okay, all. Here's the deal. My Internet **_**still**_** isn't up, but most likely it will be up tonight. Sorry for the delay, but you'll be happy to know that a lack of Internet also means a sudden surplus in free time, which has resulted in me writing the next five chapters of **_**Fowl Ties**_**. (Everyone pause for a moment to listen for Ru-Doragon squealing in joy) Look for the next one by Friday! In the meantime, you could coo over this OR**

**Go to my profile and vote on my latest poll: "Who are you rooting for to win Grub Kelp's heart: Vinyáya or Lili Frond?"**

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**Song: "Tell Me Lies" by Natalie Cole**

**P.S. You all need to listen to this song. It's amazing. You can find a video on YouTube without much difficulty.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 23: I'm Much Too Smart for Fairy Tales**

**Week 19-Part 2**

"Lili, wait!"

"Leave me alone!"

"Lili, _please!_"

"Fuck off!"

"Lili, will you just wait a second and let me _explain?!_"

Lili Frond stopped at the entrance to Police Plaza, just before the glass doors would slide open. She allowed Grub to catch up to her.

"Lili, I—"

_"Shut up!_" Lili brought her hand about in a flash.

Grub staggered back, holding his cheek. The sound of her strike echoed around the wide entryway, held in by the closed glass front doors. Small blue sparks flew across his skin as a myriad of broken blood vessels under the surface instantly healed, though a bright red mark remained on his face. "Frond _dammit_!" Grub spat, turning back to face her, eyes alight with barely contained rage and pain.

Lili thrust a finger at Grub's face. "Don't use my ancestor's name in vain!"

He grunted, dismissing the heresy complaint, and took a step towards the woman. "Will you just _listen_ to me?"

She backed away immediately, her hands up in defense, regardless of her so recently exercised offense. "Oh, like I haven't heard that before!" Lili was in full force, with decades of confrontation experience behind her. Every frustration she had gone through with the new captain over the past few months was straining against her thin restraints, making her rabid to storm right over him. "I can't _believe_ you! I thought...I thought.... You _lied_ to me!"

He stepped again, but stopped when Lili brought up her hand, now clenched in a fist and obviously dedicated to his nose. He grimaced, taking the warning, though he refused to avoid her glare, trying to maintain that connection despite her reluctance. "I _never_ lied to you!"

"Oh, really!" Lili laughed harshly, holding up her fingers to count off. "What about why you're living with Vinyáya? Or how about being single? Or not being a complete_ prick?"_

"Yes, I am living with Vinyáya, that's the truth." He tried to keep his mind in order, well aware that Lili was going to claw away all of his arguments with ruthless fervor. "When my mother found out about the pregnancy, she freaked,and I had to move. Vinyáya has been letting me stay at her place _until my promotion_. Once my first check is in, I'm gone."

"Oh, sorry for you," Lili said scathingly. "Moving is _so_ hard, especially when you don't get to live with your _lover_ anymore!"

"She is _not_ my lover!" He winced at the admission. Part of him had always hoped, but the note left for him those few weeks ago had brought him back to reality. "At least...not anymore. It was...just sex," he wilted at Lili's deepening glare, "and she started seeing Lope right after she told me about the pregnancy. _Nothing_ has happened between us since."

Lili balked. "You...are you _serious_? " She'd heard a _lot_ of lies in her time. She even let herself believe a few of them, but this....

"Yes, I am," Grub confirmed. "Look, I know it's hard to believe, but you can ask her yourself, now that everyone knows." He hesitated a moment, then took a few steps forward, stopping within arm's length. "Look...I couldn't tell you everything, but I _never_ lied to you."

"No," she finally agreed, closing her eyes to hold back more tears. "You just led me along. Like everyone."

"Lili...." Grub looked at the ground. He felt like trash. She was right; he had let her believe that all was well, giving her no clue that there might be complications beyond just needing a promotion so he could move. He had been feeling things develop. 'Generally clueless' was Grub's normal state, but no one could make as many advances as Lili did and not get their point across. He'd diplomatically ignored them until things came to a head. Then...he'd gone too fast. Jumped forward and said he wanted the same things she did before she was even given the chance to know every one of the hundreds of strings now attached to him. Trouble had warned him about this. "I would have told you, if I could, but she was going say it wasn't me, and then I'd have to fight her in court. She agreed to think about saying it was me while I went for the promotion, but I couldn't tell _anyone_."

"You...." Lili stared at him, fingers flexing as she flipped between a desire to punch him and a desire to grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him. "You _want_ this?"

He nodded. "With all my heart. If it was anything else, I would have told you. I_ did_ tell you everything else, and you know it!"

Lili thought back as far as she could. Every little talk and each vague fact. Every nervous jump connected to her each little flirtation. The pull she could feel between them and that inextricable wall that kept her from making any progress. It all made too much sense.

That didn't mean she could take it. "Sure, lie to me again," Lili muttered, turning to walk away.

"D'arvit, will you just _stop_ for a minute?" Grub sprang forward, grabbing Lili's hand before she could get away. She wrenched against his grip, but he held on. It felt wrong to hold her back like this, but he couldn't just let her go. "Lili, I swear by the Book, I didn't want to hide this!"

She gasped, spinning to face him. Not all fairies turned to the gods, but all who still had magic considered the Book to be inviolable. Just as with humans swearing on their sacred texts (and more so, because the People could feel the magic that sprung from their tome), a vow on the Book was the ultimate show of sincerity. Lili had to pause.

"You..._why?_"

He let his hand fall, though he still held hers. Now he cradled at the fingertips, rather than restraining her with all of his force, and his nausea at that move dissipated. "I...I get to be a _father_, Lili. What chance in hell did I have of that happening?"

She laughed quite softly, not so much making the sound as letting air leave her lungs in a staccato, almost choked rhythm. "True. How you managed to pull that one off...." She held up a hand to stop any explanation he may have been inclined to give, not wanting to contemplate the details. "Gods...the one guy in the LEP who _doesn't_ think I want to jump his bones, and he's going to be a daddy...."

Grub flushed, eyes widening in alarm at her choice of words.

Lili sputtered. "No! I didn't mean...." She shook her head quickly, resetting the conversation. "It's not like that. I just...where did I leave off in the caff?" She bit her lip, running her unrestrained hand through her hair as she thought. "I was having fun with you. I...I thought there could be something there." She shook her head at the foolish idea.

"Why _can't_ there be?" Grub whispered, doing his best to keep a whine from his voice, and not altogether succeeding.

"Grub...Vinyáya is having your _baby_."

Grub sighed. "She doesn't give a shit about me, Lili. She never did." The truth—not sudden, but unwanted and long-withheld in his mind—made Grub bite his cheek.

"What?" Lili snapped, narrowing her eyes. "So she was just using you for _sex?"_

"Er...." He blushed. It was answer enough, if Lili's intrigued (and now somewhat less incredulous) expression was anything to judge by.

"So...Vinyaya is having your child?"

"Yes."

"And you're living with her?"

"For just a few more weeks."

"And...you thought I'd be okay with this?"

Grub shook his head swiftly. "N-no! I mean...I had hoped.... I was going to ask if things could work out, once she told everyone. After I moved and everyone knew about the child."

Lili gaped. "You..._you_ were going to ask _me_ if I'd _date_ you, with all that baggage?"

He groaned, striking his forehead. "Look, you know me. I'm not the smartest elf around, okay? I just thought...if I had even a little chance, given everything...I wanted to at least ask."

"You...." Lili gritted her teeth, clutching at Grub's hand fiercly. "You thought so, _huh_?"

Grub tried to back away, but now he was the one being held, though he was able to drag Lili back a few feet with him, having finally gained at least that much strength. "I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean—"

Lili kept her hold, and now began to advance on Grub, who nearly fell down when he lost her counterweight. "If you thought you'd just waltz up and _seduce_ me—"

"I didn't think I'd s-seduce you!" Grub said with a girly shriek.

"Whatever! If you _really_ thought I'd want to be with _you_, after all of this, then just answer me one question!"

Grub shrank, putting a hand up to protect his face. "W-what!?!"

Lili squeezed his hand harder, took a deep breath, and blurted it out: "Can we go on a date?"

Grub blinked. He looked at Lili from under the guard of his arm, ears twitching as he tried to sense a hidden attack. "I...I...um..yeeeees?" He was hesitant, and ducked his head again, expecting the affirmation to be the cue for her to smash his face in.

Lili nodded once, firmly. "Monday, after work?"

Grub broke into a grin, standing straight. "Yes! I'd love to!" He suddenly went back to frowning. "Only...I kind of don't have a car or anything, so I'll be pretty lame." He rubbed at the back of his neck, grinning in a pained manner. Lack of a ride seemed like a deal-breaker for the stylish Frond.

Lili rolled her eyes, and it was apparent that she had—once again—been underestimated. "I can cover that." She paused, thinking, then went back to her stern tones. "And another thing!"

"Y-yes?" Grub squeaked, knees turning to jelly.

"Would you start carpooling with me again? I know you'll be moving soon, but...it was nice." She shrugged. "And we'll be pretty busy for the next few weeks, with the promotion ceremony coming up. You can catch me up on everything during traffic. Tell me all about this...." She seemed to be stumbling on the words. "This...'pregnancy' thing." She rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, as if she had a foul taste on the tip. "I swear, I pick guys in the _worst_ situations. It's a talent."

Grub took a chance and picked up Lili's other hand, holding both tight. "I'd like that. A lot."

They were comfortably silent for a while, Grub no longer cringing, but standing at full height, enjoying the small connection as they looked at their clasped hands held between them.

Suddenly, Lili looked troubled again. "I...Grub?"

He could feel his ears tingling. Danger. "Y-yes?"

"Just...one more thing?"

"Okay," he whimpered. That deal-breaker had to be coming sometime. If not a baby or a car, then...what?

Lili took a step towards him, pulling up their hands so they rested between their chests. When she spoke, her voice was at a whisper. "Would you...kiss me? Just...so _you_ do it this time, to give that a try?"

Slowly, he nodded. "I-I think I could do that." He pulled her a little closer until there was no space between their bodies, which had begun to tingle, anticipating a burst of lightning for either their presumption of being together or a perfect positive-negative match between them. Hesitantly, licking his lips first, breath erratic, Grub Kelp bent his head and kissed Lili Frond.

She sighed into the kiss, letting his hands go so she could lift her arms, encircling them around his neck. It felt...gentle. Nothing like the frantic pawing she was used to. And, being so restrained, it enflamed her. Lili was forced to break away, gasping, pupil's dilated. "W-wow! I can sort of see why the Wing Commander went after you." She put back on her coquettish behavior, fanning her face and winking when Grub flushed at her (only partially unnecessary) acting.

Grub coughed and looked away. "Er...actually...no."

Lili glared at him. "Honestly, I find it hard to believe that she would put up with you being crappy."

"Oh!" He blushed. "Not the sex. I mean...." He needed to look at her for this, to make sure she believed him, because he sometimes couldn't believe it himself. "Vinyáya never let me kiss her."

Lili stared. "She...seriously?"

Grub nodded, solemn.

"Woah." She considered this. Then, smirking, Lili rose to her tip-toes, digging her fingers into Grub's hair to pull his head back down, and kissed the captain again, much faster this time, to avoid getting sidetracked. "Got to say, I kind of like that." Then she kissed him for a much longer period, ignoring the wave officers that came in through the front doors, deciding that melting into this was far more important than anything around them.

* * *

**Special behind-the-scenes footage!**

Ash Vein, sitting on a director's chair (his name was emblazoned on the back, showing that he wasn't intruding on his current Writer-God's perks) next to the current story's male lead—Grub Kelp—looked through his script and frowned. "Wait a second...what is this line about?" He ran a finger under the words as he read them aloud. "'By the way, did you figure out that thing she does when you tug on both of her earlobes?'" He looked to Kelp, who was also studiously going through his lines. "What does the Wing Commander do when you tug both of her earlobes?"

Grub chuckled, cutting his eyes sideways at Vein. "She starts to shield."

Vein frowned. "Okay...so?"

Sighing, Grub reached out, poking one finger into the side of Vein's head. He let his heartbeat rise, focusing extra bloodflow on his hand, which began to vibrate so fast that it disappeared out sight.

Vein's temple, up against Grub's rapidly vibrating fingers, began to buzz. "Ah!" He leaned sideways, freeing himself from the touch. "Don't _do_ that! Why you'd _make_ her do that, I don't—" Vein stopped, mouth open. It slowly began to morph into an enormous grin. "You mean...she shields around your...?"

Grub nodded, de-shielding and reading on. "You got it."

Vein howled with laughter, his following word both an exclamation of surprise and a congratulation to this resourceful elf: "DAY-UM!"

* * *

**Don't forget to vote on who you want to win Grub, now! Not that it will sway me in any way....**

**And if you all go and vote and don't review, I will cry. Seriously. It's happened to me before, it's not fair. Review, then vote.**

* * *

**Preview: You were always hard to hold,/ so letting go aint easy./ I'm hanging on but growing cold/ w****hile my mind is leaving./ Talk, talk is cheap,/ give me your word you can keep./ Cause I'm halfway gone, and I'm on my way....**


	24. If You Want Me Out

**Request: Signed reviews, plz. If you just didn't want to sign in, but I can figure your name out easily enough (that's the majority of you, really), that's cool, I can do the leg(finger?)-work of finding you to message back. But don't do an un-signed review if I can't figure out who you are, and especially if it's negative. I'd rather talk to negative reviewers and see if their concerns are valid so I can improve, rather than grumble and make no progress. Most of you are great on this, really, but I just hate it when people hide like that. Besides, I like giving feedback to everyone! It allows me to be highly inappropriate and make you vaguely uncomfortable.  
**

**/indignant ranting**

* * *

**Song: "Halfway Gone" by Lifehouse**

* * *

**Chapter 24: If You Want Me Out**

**Week 19-Part 3**

Scientists debate as to whether it is possible for anything to travel faster than the speed of light. This is rather daft of them, as any high schooler or housewife can attest that one thing in this world not only travels faster than light, but leaves light in it's dust: gossip.

It was only a few minutes after Grub and Lili had finally broken away from each other and come to the sad conclusion that it was time to get back to work. Captain Kelp hadn't even made it halfway to his station when he noticed everyone in the Plaza staring at him, muttering key words like "Vinyáya," "pregnant," "Frond," and "you're_ shitting_ me" amongst themselves. He could feel heat rising up the back of his neck at their attentions, and did his best to act nonchalant. He took his tablet from it's clip on his hip and began to leaf through work even before he arrived at the safe confines of his private office.

Thus he was not watching where he was going and ran directly into another similarly-distracted elf.

"Woah! Watch it, will you?" Grub snapped, rubbing his abdomen, where the lower edge of his tablet had jabbed into him during the collision.

"I could say the same thing to you," the masterfully even voice of the other injured party responded.

Grub's heat was whisked away, as if by an arctic wind. He looked up, throat stuck in the middle of swallowing, at Vinyáya, who was also rubbing where she had been poked by her tablet, this being on her stomach. Grub stared at the mound, befuddled. It looked twice as large as he had seen it in the cafeteria, and he was _fairly_ certain that it shouldn't have grown so much in the one hour since the big reveal.

The appearance was accounted for as Vinyáya stood straight, taking a deep breath and tightening her abdominal muscles. She went from bulge to bump with impressive ease, and stood with a hand on her hip, tablet tapping against her thigh as she studied the cause of said bump. "So...Frond," she observed, raising her eyebrows in a request for confirmation.

Grub finally managed to complete his swallow, and winced at the painful movement of his Adam's apple. Collecting himself, he nodded.

Vinyáya pursed her lips, thinking. "Not bad." She nodded, quite slowly, and her lips curved the slightest degree. "I'm impressed."

Grub's took a step back, unconsciously letting his feet fall into a shortened forward stance. Of all of the reactions he had expected the wing commander to have, this was somewhere near the middle of the list (the bottom containing tearful pleas to take her back, the top occupied by no response at all or loud derision). "Er...thanks."

Vinyáya shrugged and stepped to the side, weaving around the puzzled male. Before passed his shoulder, she paused, turning to look at her room mate. "Oh, Kelp?"

Grub's back crawled as he noticed all of the surrounding officers whispering at the exchange, as well as the bypassing of his rank. He clenched his fists, the fingers rubbing across each other with the help of a thick layer of palm sweat. "Y-yes?"

"Ask Frond about how to respond to paparazzi," Vinyáya suggested, frowning at her own tablet, which she had been watching carefully for any updates from Brenner. "There's no way you're going to escape their notice, now, so it's best to know what to do if they catch you."

Grub's mouth went dry. "R-really? But..._why?_"

Vinyáya threw her laughing words back at him as she continued down the hall. "Are you kidding me? We're the best drama to hit Haven since Fowl and Short!"

* * *

It took a while for Grub to really recognize the truth: he was dating Lili Frond. "Princess Frond" among the more traditional fairies. The most desirable woman in the entire Lower Elements. And that simple fact pushed one question before him. One question he was completely unprepared for.

Grub crashed into Trouble's office, hyperventilating as he slammed his hands on the Commander's desk. "Trubs! What the _hell_ do you do on a date?"

Trouble blinked. He'd been surprised by the appearance, and would have been annoyed (well..._more_ annoyed) if it was anyone else. He preferred to be properly attired when someone visited his office, which mostly involved removing his reading glasses and putting in contacts, if needed. So, with a dramatic sigh, he swept the glasses off, leaning over his desk. "Grub. A date. You're asking..._me?_"

Grub rolled his eyes. "You're not _that_ bad!"

"If I knew how to have a successful date, I might actually go on more than one with the same girl."

Sinking into the brotherly banter, Grub evened out, his breathing returning to a quickened, but not distressed rate. "And yet you still sleep with almost every single one of them...."

Trouble shrugged, sinking back into his chair. "What can I say? It's a gift." He tapped the glasses to his lips, thinking. It took him quite a long time to sort through his seduction repertoire and find something that wouldn't get the captain kneed in the balls. "I guess dinner and a movie is normal."

Grub considered this, then nodded. "Yeah...yeah! But...." He chewed his lip. "I can't afford anywhere really nice, yet...."

"Grub," Trouble said flatly. "Really. _Really?_"

"Really...what?"

Trouble threw an arm in the air, startling the younger elf and making him step back. "Cook the food yourself! Have a picnic or something." Trouble grimaced at the fluffy idea. "After romantic crap like that, she'll probably be all over you."

Grub flushed. "No! I mean...um...." He put a hand to his mouth, clenching it as he sorted through his feelings. Soon, his eyes darted up and he whispered, "Can I say 'no'?"

Trouble rolled his eyes. "Yes, you can say 'no' to sex. At least on principle. Noting your current predicament, I have my doubts on your actual abilities."

Grub bit his lips. "I..._think_ I can do it." He nodded to himself, not noticing his older brother's further annoyed looks. "But...the movie...." He scowled, then turned his attention back to the master. "What sort of movies does Lili like?"

Trouble shrugged. "Comedies, mostly. A little romance, but nothing too serious."

Grub pondered a while, then smiled. "_The Case of the Amber Moon_ is coming out. It's supposed to be really big. Think she'd like that?"

Trouble nodded. "She's dying to see it, actually."

"Great! I better order tickets before they're sold out!" Grub dashed out of the office as swiftly as he had entered.

Trouble watched his little brother go, shaking his head and chuckling. "Ah...so naïve."

A long pause.

"Wait. _Lili?_"

Trouble sprang to his feet, vaulting the desk. He caught up with Grub just as he entered the hallway. Grabbing the younger man's shoulder, the commander spun him around, taking the other shoulder in hand to bring his brother close, face-to-face. "Why are you asking about Lili?"

Grub puffed his chest out. "We're going out together on Monday!"

"Lili...Frond?"

Grub searched his memory. "Do we know another Lili?"

Trouble's jaw dropped. "You...with...my _best friend_ Lili?"

Grub nodded rapidly. "Yep!" He laughed. "Wild, huh! Hey, gotta rush! Those tickets will go fast!" He slapped his brother on the back. "Thanks, again. It's gonna be perfect!" With a little brother's practiced twist, Grub broke free and jogged off down the halls.

Trouble stared after him, jaw uncollected. He wanted to call to the captain, but nothing was working quite right, mentally. After a very long time, this was what he managed:

"_LILI???_"

* * *

**Week 20-Part 1**

Lili gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, gods!" She stared at Grub. "You _made_ this?"

Grub, mouth half-full of egg roll, nodded. "Yesh."

Lili moaned, putting a steadying hand on the picnic blanket. "Okay...okay...just...before I pass out from a food coma, are we doing anything else?"

Grub—currently sitting cross-legged on a red-and-white checked blanket in a woodsy section of Haven's main park—shifted to the side, taking two small slips of paper from his pocket. He handed them to Lili, whose eyes shot open as she took in the text. "_Amber Moon _at eight."

"_Amber Moon!_" Lili shrieked, turning the tickets over and over to make sure they showed all the signs of being real, from holographic stamp to micro-printed ink. "It's been sold out since opening day!"

Grub preened. "Which is why I got tickets on Wednesday."

Lili clutched the valuable admissions to her chest. "Grub...question?"

Justifiably proud of himself, Grub leaned back, propped up by one hand. He tilted his head in a prompt. "Yes?"

Lili bit her lip. "Can...can I keep you?"

Grub blinked, looking down as he thought about this. He shrugged. "Um...yeah, sure."

"SQUEE!" Lili pounced, throwing her arms around Grub's neck, making them both collapse to the blanket, her teal sundress billowing out to a dangerous degree before settling to decency in the aftermath.

At first, Grub didn't know what to do. Then, with a contented sigh, he let his arms drape around Lili's waist, holding her as tightly as he dared. "I did good?"

In answer, Lili kissed him, keeping it up so long that they had to shovel the feast down as they ran to make the movie in time.

* * *

The week passed and suddenly it was the end of the pay period. Grub opened his office mail to find his first captain's-level paycheck. He stared at the sudden jump in tax bracket, his stomach sinking. This...was it. Fiscal solvency.

It really sucked.

He waived Lili off after work, saying that he wanted to walk home. She reminded him of the lengthy trudge, but he just shook his head and refused to comment further. On the way, he made calls to a few of his apartment prospects, mentally comparing their pros and cons until he came to his final decision. As he walked down the last stretch of road, his temporary home looming in front of him, he made the final call, asking the apartment manager to wait for his arrival with paperwork ready.

He arrived back at Wing Commander Vinyáya's house, put his key in the door for the last time, and walked in. The exile passed his host—who watched him as he shuffled past, eyebrows raised curiously as she sipped a cup of tea—and entered the guest bedroom.

Where he froze.

There, arrayed about the room, were a dozen boxes and a few canvas bags filled with _very_ familiar items. He took a few steps in and picked out a small plastic case from the top of a bag. He flipped it over, reading the title out loud. "_Pom Poko._..."

Grub turned to see Vinyáya standing in the doorway, watching him, still sipping her mug of tea.

He slapped the Mud Man DVD case against his palm. "These are...my things. How...how did you _get_ these?"

She gave him dismissive shrug, but the wing commander was smirking, terribly pleased with herself. "I told your mother they were your things and you deserved to have them."

Grub shook his head, but now he was grinning with just a tinge of malice. "She must have been _pissed_."

Vinyáya considered this.

* * *

**A few hours earlier....**

Hibiscus Brenner had just settled down for a nice night of hot coffee, light jazz, and a long, tawdry romance novel when her doorbell rang. She sighed, looking down at the description of Perry—the time-traveling elf from the days of King Frond—and, most specifically, his naughty bits, and considered just letting the visitor ring. When the buzzing came again, this time in rapid three-push bursts that only had a few seconds between each, continuing endlessly, she put her tablet down, wrapped her thin bathrobe a bit tighter, and went to the door.

She opened it to find Wing Commander Vinyáya standing very close, as if her nose was formerly pressed against the wood. Her hands were held behind her back, putting her in the "at ease" posture, though she was undeniably prepared to attack. She got rid of her glare, as if it had been the presence of the door that offended her, and smiled radiantly. "Good to see you, Ms. Brenner. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Hibiscus did a small double-take, but managed to turn it into a roll of the eyes and transitioned to crossed arms. "Councilwoman. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I am here," the officer said, with all the calmness of a warrant officer trying to pass along the news that they were bringing in someone for a minor infraction, "for your son."

"Grubby isn't here," Hibiscus rejoindered, "last I check, he was living with some whore he picked up."

"Hmmm." Vinyáya closed her eyes and smiled, letting the comment melt off her like butter off a tilted, red-hot skillet. "I apologize. More accurately, I am here _on behalf_ of Captain Kelp, recovering his stolen property."

Hibiscus felt an explosion in her chest. _Captain!_ Her little boy had done it! He had clawed his way up two ranks in one go; a practically unheard-of achievement. Then she got to the part about "stolen property" and narrowed her lips to an invisible line. "I'm afraid you'll need to look somewhere else. Everything in this house is _mine_."

Vinyáya unclipped a mini-tablet from her belt, flipping her thumb across the surface to study a document. "I've got several statements from Commander Kelp that say otherwise, as well as access to the captain's purchasing records for the past few decades. They show what goods he obtained with his own earnings, nearly all of which are in this house." Her fingers itched, but she reigned herself in. "Now, we can do this the easy, diplomatic way and you let me inside to get his things...or...we do this _my_ way."

"Your way," Hibiscus snapped back, hackles going down. Warrants. She would love to see the elder elf going before a judge for _this_.

Vinyáya shook her head, sighing, and took the other hand from behind her back. "Your son is going to be _so_ mad at me if he finds out."

There was a mechanical hum and a rapid snapping from between them.

Hibiscus looked down to see a glowing buzz baton, electricity sparking off the forked end. She stared at it, then began to laugh shrilly. "Really, now, Wing Commander. You must be going mad with the hormones. Attacking a civilian." She did take a small step back, feeling the minute hairs on her stomach going on end, attracted to the current.

Vinyáya nodded, forlorn, and waved the tip of the baton back and forth between them. "Yes, I really must be...oh...what is the slang for losing your mind? Going...going...."

"Section 8," Hibiscus supplied.

Her heart stopped. It _couldn't_ be....

Vinyáya nodded, tapping at her lips with the tablet. "Why, yes! I think you're right. I was always confused about that term, but you are completely right. I'm going Section 8." She smacked the buzz baton against the Brenner household's doorframe, leaving tow black divots in the ancient wood. "I'd like to come in and get the captain's things. Sound good?"

When Hibiscus didn't respond, Vinyáya reached out with the baton and zapped a loose strand of Hibiscus's hair, frying it instantly. It curled up close to the matron's scalp, giving off that particular nauseating smell that only comes from burnt hair.

Hibiscus trebled with rage. She could take the Wing Commander to court if she attacked, but that would not negate the pain of a few good whacks. That threat about the LEP special forces was not encouraging, either. However, Vinyáya seemed to be forgetting one very important fact about this situation, and that made Hibiscus smirk as she backed away from the door, waving the other woman in. "Very well, but I _do_ wonder how you plan on getting all of my son's things _alone_."

Vinyáya nodded, chewing her lip, and shut the buzz baton off. She twirled it between her fingers like a baton before shoving it in her left hip holster. Arnica ran a hand through her long silver hair, blowing her cheeks out and seeming suddenly overwhelmed. Then, when her hand had buried itself at the back of her head, she winked. "You know...this was always my favorite command."

Vinyáya pointed her hand at the Brenner household, screaming two doubly-apt words: "MOVE OUT!"

Instantly, a dozen fairies in the beige overalls of the People's best moving service (well known for discretely relocating people when all the rest of Haven slept) sprang from the front of Hibiscus's house—where they had been hiding by leaning against the siding—and swarmed in through the door. They fanned out,pausing in front of every article of furniture, rifling through an extensive printout identical to the one on the commander's tablet, sometimes taking items and shoving them into a canvas sack over their shoulders. Like sadistic anti-elves of the anti-Santa. A full half-dozen of them went into one room at the end of a hall, coming out with full boxes. As they passed Vinyáya, each gave her a sharp nod in lieu of a salute (civilians they were, but everyone will respond to authority if it's well-exercised), then continued on down the street to an unmarked white van, which they filled in under two minutes. Then all piled inside and took off, wheels screeching.

Hibiscus hadn't moved during the entire operation. When all of the movers were gone, she looked to Vinyáya, not sure if she had just suddenly had a massive hallucination, or if a few dozen men had just ransacked her house.

Vinyáya gave a bright smile and waggled her fingers in farewell. "Tell Commander Kelp if we took anything of yours. I'd just _hate_ to be accused of stealing." Then she spun on her heels and strode off to her magnabike, tips of her hair flicking like a cat's tail.

* * *

Vinyáya shrugged. "She took it rather well. Very pleasant."

Grub could tell something was wrong with this situation, but he really could not bring himself to care. All of the things he had spent the last several decades working for and collecting, first lost and now suddenly given back to him. He laughed. "Well, I'm glad I didn't sign the paperwork for that apartment, yet. I'll need more space for all of this."

Vinyáya studied the ground. Then she berated herself for the evasion and raised her head high. "It would be a terribly difficult move all of this, wouldn't it?"

Grub shrugged. "It might take me a few days. I'll pay another month's rent, if you want, so I can take a few boxes a day instead of exhausting myself in one big trip."

"I was...more thinking...." Vinyáya frowned, then just decided it was best to throw it out there. "You could stay. _Just_ for a little longer. Until the entire 'baby' issue gets manageable."

The younger elf blinked. Then he tilted his head sideways, one lip lifting an increment at its edge, his ears twitching. "I...what?"

Vinyáya leaned against the guest room's door frame, really hoping that she looked cool and collected. "I've appreciated the extra money from your rent, and not having to clean has been nice...not to mention the food. You're...not a bad room mate." She watched his expression, which was slowly shifting from utter confusion to something she didn't recognize. "You would _still_ be a boarder, not a permanent resident, but...." She let her hand rest palm-up in the air, as if the offer dangled at the tips of her fingers. "You can keep living here, if you want. Until taking care of the child gets easier...or until you really piss me off."

She had expected Grub to fall to his knees in thanks, but that wasn't what happened. He frowned, eyes flashing incongruously down the hall towards the wing commander's bedroom before returning to her. "I...I'll have to think about that. I'm really not sure...but I'll at least take the extra time to look for a better place."

Vinyáya opened her mouth, but shut it quickly, teeth clicking. "I...suppose, yes." Her carefully constructed offer thus left in limbo, she brought her hand back to her mug, clutching it with both hands. "What...is unsatisfactory about the apartment you had chosen, if I might ask?" Inwardly, she frowned (outwardly, she drank the tea to keep her mouth in order) at the chit-chat. Despite living together for months, she hadn't made much time for commiseration with the other half of the parental equation.

"It was just a little one-bedroom," Grub answered, putting down his tanuki-starred DVD and rifling through the other imported (and thus quite expensive) movies. "I was going to stay in the living room, but with all this stuff, it would be way too crowded."

"In the...living room?" Genuinely puzzled (and deciding puzzlement was an appropriate response), Vinyáya rested the tea on her stomach. Her toes curled as the warm mug heated her stretched skin in a delicious manner. "And the bedroom?"

"The nursery," Grub replied, letting out a small cry of triumph as he found all of his collection intact, including the few _technically_ illegal copies (really, where were you going to find a legal copy of _Mei and the Kitten Bus_?) that he had briefly worried about being confiscated by their rescuer. He had half-thought the retrieval of his goods was merely to gather evidence against him, and the negation of this idea made him feel somewhat guilty. As a result, he left off on the search, giving his host his full attention. "I mean, the baby needs somewhere to sleep, right?"

Vinyáya's nails tapped against the mug. "Huh...yes, I suppose you're right. Thought I've heard of parents keeping the child in the bedroom with them."

Grub sighed. "I considered it, but it's a really small bedroom. I don't think it'd work. _You_ might be able to pull it off here, if Lope is fine with it."

Vinyáya swiftly brought the cup up, drinking so deeply that a line of tea ran down her neck. She rubbed it away with her sleeve. "No, no, I highly doubt that."

"Ah...Lope's not too enthusiastic?" Grub was relieved. The notion of his child being in the same bedroom as the two council members as they...well, he didn't know when children began to understand such things, but he'd rather not pay that psychiatrists bill a few decades down the line.

"I...really don't know, but, again, I doubt it would suit him." She came to the end of her tea and felt a knot unwind in her stomach at the new escape possibility that a refill presented.

"Well...have you _asked_ him?"

Vinyáya pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "Aconite is currently on a diplomatic visit with the Atlantean ambassador. He's been very busy."

Grub was about to respond, but Vinyáya halted him by pushing away from the door frame, waving her cup. "I'm afraid I've work to do. Never a moment off, you know?"

"Yeah, sure." He looked about his crowded room, pondering. "I guess I'll have to do a little work in here, if I want to find the bed. Although...." He looked past Vinyáya, to the other guest room, which had remained closed for the entire time that he had been living just across from it. "I was wondering...."

Vinyáya followed his gaze and found herself completely _not_ understanding what was interesting about the smaller guest room. Did he intend to take over the spot for storage? "What?"

"Well...I mean...I do have a lot of free time, now that I don't have to study, and the baby will need a place of its own here...unless you want me coming into your bedroom at all hours of the night when it cries." He manfully fought off a blush at that idea.

Vinyáya looked back at the room and tilted her head. "I'd rather you didn't..." Then she got what he was aiming at. "Cleaning, cooking, and now redecorating? Grub, are you _sure_ you're not secretly gay?"

Grub tried to not be offended. He got that way too much from his brother when they were little (Trouble tended to shut up when Grub took the cookies out of the oven, but that did little to stop him the next time around). In answer, he pointed at Vinyáya's belly, which she had allowed to go unclenched in the privacy of her home, the bulge quite evident.

She poked it. "Yeah, yeah...."

Grub watched her prodding fingers, scowling. "Seriously, though. Where were you planning on keeping the baby?"

Vinyáya shrugged. "I dunno. I could just put the crib in the living room. No redecorating needed."

Grub snorted derisively. "That disaster zone?" Despite his best efforts, Vinyáya ruined his organization there every day she had off, and a good number times after she got off work.

Vinyáya scowled, suddenly rethinking her rooming decision. "I am a busy woman. I can't be expected to _clean_ all the time."

"Fine, fine," Grub muttered. "But if I _do_ stay, you can't expect to keep the baby in your bedroom, unless you plan on allowing me inside."

Vinyáya blinked at his choice of words, but the male wasn't looking at her, for which she was thankful. "I can see your point...but I don't have the _time_ to get the extra bedroom ready."

"Of course not," Grub agreed. "I'll do all the remodeling, painting, baby-proofing, those sorts of things. Like I said, I have the time, now."

Vinyáya looked at him, trying to decide what was best to say under the circumstances. What came out was "A nursery...." The words were slow as she rolled them about in her mouth, tasting the softness. She grunted, not appreciating the verbal pallet. "Very well. Just nothing too...squishy." She shuddered.

"Squishy?" Grub replied, suddenly thinking of octopuses. Actually...octopuses _would_ be a cute decoration....

"You know. Squishy. Girly. Regardless of gender, no squishy things." Vinyáya waved at the door, as if it would provide a few good examples of what she meant, instead of remaining a dark faux-wood portal. "Rabbits, ducks, puppies and kittens. Squishy."

"No squishies. Very well." Grub inwardly debated on octopuses, but didn't bring up the idea. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. "So...you'll let me?"

After a few more seconds to think it over, Vinyáya nodded. "I imagine it will keep you busy and out of my hair...so yes. Knock yourself out."

Grub clapped his hands together and rubbed them, looking remarkably like a mad scientist. "Excellent!" Then something seemed to hit him, twisting his face so much that one of his ears went briefly sideways, like a puzzled dog. "Oh...crud. Lili is going to be _pissed_."

* * *

**You have _no idea_ how hard it was to write this chapter. I think it needed the most editing of any, to work correctly. Originally, Grub pounced on the idea of staying. By the time I got up here in posting, I realized that didn't fit his personality anymore. Many, many edits....**

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**Preview: Can't swallow our pride,/ neither of us wanna raise that flag./ If we can't surrender then we both gonna lose/ what we had.**


	25. Better Go and Get Your Armor

**Song: "Battlefield" by Jordin Sparks**

* * *

**Chapter 25: Better Go and Get Your Armor**

**Week 20-Part 2**

Artemis Fowl rarely got to speak with his family, given the Council's worries about exposing the fairy race (a rather apt concern, now that the twins were beginning to bring women back to the manor, expanding the possibilities of exposure dramatically), and Artemis was further irked by the fairy government's demand that he conduct all such interviews on a LEP-secured connection. So Artemis only got to speak with his family while at Police Plaza, and that meant he suffered through a barrage of interruptions during any given conversation.

This day, he was getting some rare extended time with Butler while the rest of the Fowls were out and about. He was enjoying catching his former bodyguard up on recent events—even if all Domovoi wanted to know about was how each detail impacted Artemis's physical safety—and was thus doubly irritated by the uproar that could be heard from the hallways. Especially when Butler began to look concerned.

"Artemis, is there some sort of goblin revolution taking place out there?" Butler's eyes darted to a space just beyond the right of his screen, where Artemis knew every gun but his guardian's trusty sig (which remained always in his shoulder or hip holster) waited in a locked case.

"No, no, old friend," Artemis said, holding up a staying hand. "Just gossip run rampant."

"Gossip?" Butler quirked an eyebrow. "Gossip in the LEP?"

Artemis laughed, the sound strained, going on for far too long. "Ah ha...hah...you have no idea, Butler, really. Admittedly, it's rarely this bad. Extenuating circumstances, I suppose."

The idea that Artemis was actually up-to-date on whispers within the Plaza wasn't a foreign idea to the bodyguard. After all, this was the boy who had discovered another race based on a few bedtime stories. "What makes this especially loud?"

Artemis shook his head, lips twitching. "I believe you remember Wing Commander Vinyáya? She came to a few of the Koboi meetings. Head of Section 8 and a member of the Council."

Butler nodded in recognition. "Grey hair?"

"Yes, that's right. Well..." Artemis laughed again, more a quick exhalation than extended mirth. "She found herself with child a few months ago and has finally told the rest of the LEP."

Butler whistled. "We _are_ talking about the same woman, right? About a hand taller than Holly, older woman, had a tendency to beat Commander Kelp senseless?"

"One and the same." Artemis smiled fondly as he remembered Trouble being abused for untrue comments about his impact on the Wing Commander's virtue. If he had only known the truth of what would happen between the woman and his little brother not too far from that future... "Everyone is mad to speak with the father, for details on the entire affair, but he is—wisely—hiding himself away somewhere today."

"Let me guess...Trouble actually _did_ get to her?"

"Hah! Not in the least." Artemis paused, considering, and shook his head, disappointed to have to correct himself as he went on. "Or...not _quite_. The father is the Commander's younger brother. Grub Kelp."

Butler frowned, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. "Grub...Grub Kelp...it's ringing a bell, Artemis, but not very loudly. Help an old man out and remind me who he is."

Artemis winced at the reminder of his friend's advancing age. "I believe you encountered him during the siege. He was the last man standing of Retrieval One. Refused to give up his weapon."

Butler snapped his fingers, guffawing. "Yes! I remember, now! Well, good for him. Brave man. He deserves a good catch like that woman."

Artemis turned the corners of his lips up, but the angles were all wrong. "Yes...certainly. Brave... Heh... Ah! Speaking of brave men, Lucy sent me a message yesterday. Something about you meeting her newest other half? Some Arthur person?"

As planned, Butler growled in a possessive, fatherly manner, going off on an extended rant about the youngest Fowl's latest catch and his many faults. Artemis, busy with absorbing all of the details and determining if Butler was being unreasonable in his conclusions, was able to shove the image of the younger Kelp being a "brave man" into the back of his mind, where it belonged.

* * *

Grub sat at the cafeteria table, directly across from Lili, staring at his food. Hadn't he just been in this situation with her? Shortly before she left him in tears, soon following that with a rather painful slap? This did not bode well. He began to wring his hands, which he held between his knees. "Er...Lili?"

She had already finished her food and was idly flipping through some of the tabloids, looking for any articles on herself or the Grub/Vinyáya situation. From what little she had seen, the press was lauding his stepping up to fatherhood and attacking Vinyáya for getting pregnant to begin with, as if Grub hadn't been involved in the process. Typical, really, putting all the blame on the woman. Grub confessed that this was probably the work of his mother, who led the charge the very day that Vinyáya revealed her delicate state, having prepared her article months ago. Grub's attachment to Lili was only mentioned in a single line at the end of that column, proving the point that Ms. Brenner was ready and raring to go.

"Lili?"

Finally distracted from her studies, the woman looked up. "Hmmm?"

"Er..." Grub sunk his head lower.

"...what did you do?" Lili monotoned, putting the tablet down and waiting.

"Er...I mean...I...Vinyáya is going to let me keep living with her." As his new girlfriend's look darkened, he jumped forward in his explanation. "Just for a little longer! At _most_ until she can take care of the baby without my help."

That was about when the fight started.

* * *

Vinyáya called up a video feed on her computer, shoulders tense. It showed her secretary's office, with the gnome inside working intently on the initial scheduling and paperwork. He seemed to start at every little noise, darting his eyes to her door, waiting for his boss to make a break for it. His nerves had been frayed beyond repair _long_ ago, and the knowledge that she carried a little elf was doing nothing to make him a reasonable person.

She rolled her eyes at his actions. Really, he did love the challenge of trying to keep her in check.

The Wing Commander slammed her fist down on the edge of her desk and a click came from the panel below (this part of the procedure always made her feel like she was back in high school, opening her locker). It opened to reveal a steel safe, which she unlocked with the gel-like palm scanner, revealing a matte black LEP jumpsuit, helmet, and fully-charged neutrino. Vinyáya was about to take off her shirt when her door was kicked open.

The attacker slammed her foot back down, fixing Vinyáya with the most deadly stare the commander had seen since Opal Koboi woke up in her cell after the capture in Italy. "_YOU!_"

Vinyáya blinked and stood back up. She was impressed, actually. She didn't think Lili had the strength to kick down a door. "Me."

Lili slammed the door behind her, leaving the off-kilter secretary to whimper and dart about, chewing his nails as he tried to decide if his boss needed help. She was the incredibly strong Wing Commander, but she was also pregnant and that was one _angry_ Frond.

Vinyáya didn't have any similar nerves. She was Vinyáya. That was Lili. End of story. She sat on the corner of her desk, one leg crossed over the other. "I'm a bit busy, at the moment, Lieutenant Frond. Can you make your ranting quick?"

"_YES._" Lili snapped, crossing the room and slamming her fists on the desk. There was a series of cracks as every one of her knuckles popped in quick succession. "What the _hell_ do you think you are doing to Grub?"

Vinyáya had expected this to be the subject, but she was still disappointed with the woman's single-minded focus on the male. "Nothing."

"Nothing." Lili leaned over the desk, getting so close to Vinyáya that the tips of their hair began to mingle. "_Nothing?_ Then why are you trying to get him back in your...your..._clutches?_"

Vinyáya tilted her head, shoulders shaking, a tinge of laughter in her voice. "I really thought you were going to say 'in your bed.' That is what you meant, correct?"

"_YES_."

Vinyáya held her hands out, palms facing Lili to lower her voice. "Temper, temper. I am not bringing Kelp back into my bed." At the glare, she went on in her councilwoman voice. "Or my desk or office chair or anything of the like. I simply offered my guest room for an extended period beyond our original agreement."

This was not the answer Lili wanted, though she wasn't exactly sure what answer she _had_ wanted. Maybe a little cringing and backing down, a rescinding of the offer, but that was utterly unrealistic. So she continued seething, manicured nails clawing at the desk until one popped off, flipping across the room and skittering into a corner. "_Why_?"

Vinyáya groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Really, she was on a schedule, here. She didn't want to pass on this assignment to Holly; she was already getting fewer missions as the Council and the other Commanders got nervous over her expanding stomach. A lack of missions tended to make her cranky. It boded ill for the rest of the pregnancy if she wasn't able to go out and shoot something. So, seeking to get Frond out of the office as soon as possible, Vinyáya deigned to explain. "He's useful."

_"Useful?_ What _use_ are you getting out of _my_ boyfriend?"

Vinyáya clicked her nails on the desk, considering. "Cooking."

"...what?" Lili stopped leaning over the desk, instead rearing back to give herself a wider view of the Wing Commender and her preposterous statement.

"Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. Grub gets a cheap place to live and the opportunity to be with his child regularly, and I get a clean house and much more free time." She shrugged, tapping her foot, her eyes darting to the clock on her computer screen. "He seems satisfied with the arrangement, I think."

She was, if slowly. "Grub...is your personal maid?"

"Well, I haven't got him the frilly outfit yet..." At Lili's returning glare, Vinyáya shook her head, negating the statement, and also throwing off the _very_disturbing image it created in her brain. "Joking, Frond. I have _no interest_ in Kelp beyond keeping house and amiably raising the child."

Lili narrowed her eyes, lips parted a fraction, accepting but perplexed. "..._why?_"

Vinyáya laughed, hand flying to her mouth. "Gods, he's a total idiot. Why _would_ I be interested in him?"

"I don't know," Lili responded blandly, raising her eyebrows, "what drew you to him enough to get knocked up?"

Vinyáya looked down at her desk, then back up at Lili, and smirked.

Lili blushed.

The Wing Commander went on. "As for why no more, well, you know...once bitten, twice shy."

Lili blushed further. Then she reached back into her ample supplies of indignation and reclaimed her glare. "So...nothing."

Vinyáya held up her hands in the traditional "zero" circle. "Zip," she said, with a popped "p" at the end.

For a long time, Lili seemed to be considering this. The concept of her new significant other still living with this woman was creating a sour ache in her stomach. She had already spent a good hour yelling at Grub, trying to get him to continue with his plans of moving out, but with no success. So Lili was forced to settle for facing off against Vinyáya, and that had turned out _spectacularly_.

"If I find out..._anything_ has happened between you two..." Lili trailed off, hoping that Vinyáya would fill in a suitable punishment.

"You'll cry and scream at me until you realize I could snap your arm in three places before you could call for help?" Vinyáya supplied. She smiled brightly. These swinging hormones were actually quite nice. Now she had an excuse!

"Whatever," Lili muttered, standing back from the desk. "Just go off on your little secret Section 8 mission, then."

Vinyáya stared at her, now finally feeling some fear. "What?"

Lili rested a hand on her hip, rolling her eyes, and indeed all of her head and her shoulders. "Wing Commander. _Really_. I've been Holly's secretary for ten years. Don't you think I figured it out at some point?"

Vinyáya jerked her head at the door. "Cirrus hasn't."

Snorting, Lili said, "Cirrus is a masochist."

Vinyáya paused, mouth open as she let that sink in. "That...explains a lot."

"But doesn't it?" Lili smiled, then wiped that expression away, berating herself. Now was not the time to get all cheery with the woman. "So go on. I need to talk to Holly."

Vinyáya hesitated, analyzing tone. There was something not right here...but she soon let it fall away. Short would have nothing to do with the confrontation between Lili and herself, not wanting to slight either co-worker. Once Lili was out of the office, Vinyáya changed into her Section 8 suit, jumped onto her desk, and slid back a ceiling panel, pulling herself up and into the crawl-space with only a little difficulty posed by her expanding stomach. She didn't have much longer using this route...not good.

* * *

Grub had been conditioned to think that any instance of a woman coming into his office was going to result in much pleasure or much pain, so the arrival of Holly Short in his private room made him nearly wet himself.

"G-good evening, Major Short." He began shaking so badly that the items on his desk rattled and skittered across the surface. Holly scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

Holly pulled a chair out of the corner and set it in front of his desk, sitting down with her legs crossed, hands folded delicately on her lap. She had gained a few ladylike qualities in her last ten years with Artemis. Sadly, what most men tend to forget about ladies is that they are terrifying, vicious creatures when they want to be. "So. Lili tells me you're dating."

Oh gods. Ohgodsohgodsohgods. "Yes."

Holly nodded, rather impressed. No one expected Grub to have been knocking boots with Vinyáya, then directly moving onto Lili, both among the most desirable women in the LEP. It was sort of like the school mascot bagging the prom queen and cheerleading captain in the same school year. "Well. I want to tell you something."

Grub nodded. He was ready to agree with anything Holly said. Absolutely anything.

Holly ran a thumbnail under her other nails, cleaning them out. "Vinyáya may be the mother of your child, but you have agreed to engage in a relationship with Lili. If you go behind her back and pick up your sexual activities with the Wing Commander, I will rip off your ballsack, separate your testicles, ram one up your rectum, then the other down your throat, and push until they meet up in your stomach." She looked up, flicking a bit of dirt off her fingers. "Are we clear, Captain?"

Grub couldn't move for a long time. When he could, it was only a very small nod.

Holly clapped once. "Super!" She stood and walked out of the door without further comment.

Grub was glad he was still in his chair and not standing. It made fainting a lot less painful.

* * *

**Preview: ****I wanna roll with him a hard pair we will be./ A little gambling is fun when you're with me./ Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun,/ And baby when it's love if its not rough it isn't fun./ I'll get him hot, show him what I've got.**


	26. Show Him What I've Got

**Sorry for the something of a delay. Life, ya know? Next few chapters may come slower than normal, as finals approach.**

**I would like to note that this chapter puts me over 100,000 words, making me the second Artemis Fowl fanfiction author to ever have two fics of over 100,000 words. Wootage! Also...this fic is not even half done, so there's a damn good chance of me being the first to break 200,000 words. Scary.**

* * *

**Song: "Poker Face" by Lady Gaga**

* * *

**Chapter 26: Show Him What I've Got**

**Week 21**

Final preparations for the promotion ceremonies took three weeks, despite the fact that the event had been scheduled for months. The new captains and majors needed their dress greens made or altered, and most were also demanding an engraved set of acorns, with little luck. Grub at least had both items already, having attended a few official functions with his older brother, along with his earlier tearful acceptance of his father's old acorns. Thus, he spent those three weeks doing his job and staying out of the way of the stressed-out higher-ups.

Lili, Assam, and Tuyet (Trouble's secretary) seemed to have the worst of it, careening about Haven to work out the final details; calling in to their charges to get final decisions and clarified instructions; and fretting about seating arrangements for the three hundred guests. Of course, the former two had extra problems due to the frequent disappearances of their bosses, leaving them utter messes by the end of every day. At least Lili had the benefit of knowing why Holly was often gone, but Assam could regularly be seen at the recycling lounges, dunking his head in a sink full of water. As they put in the final touches, handing over control to the event staff, Assam and Tuyet proclaimed that they were going to go to the first dive bar they could find and drink until they passed out. Lili looked at them longingly, her hair in disarray, and muttered that she had to attend the festivities. Her compatriots did not seem to envy her the participation.

At the Vinyáya household, there was an argument over use of the powder room, which Grub lost with impressive speed. Relegated to using a spare hand mirror, the new captain grumbled constantly, but not loud enough for his roomie to hear. She was already beginning to show signs of pregnancy temper (beyond her normal temper, of course), and he knew well enough to avoid angering any woman whom could beat him into submission.

Grub had just finished arranging his hair and brushing off his greens when the doorbell rang. Now confident in his position as actual resident, instead of tolerated and hidden squatter, he went to the door, opening it to find Lili. He remained standing in the doorway, his nails trying to dig into the knob. "H...hi."

Lili stood tall in a pair of clear shoes that brought her eyesight up to level with Grub's chin, instead of its normal position in the general area of his shoulder. Her dress was a shocking red, but rather tame compared to her normal style; it hugged most of her curves, but descending to her knees (instead of stopping somewhere just short of public indecency charges), with a slit on one side going up to mid-thigh. She took advantage of this slit, holding her leg out to the side, letting her silver handbag rest on the smooth mocha skin.

"Wow," Grub breathed, swallowing as he tried to keep his composure.

Lili blushed, touching her bun and dangling silver earrings. "Thanks." She lowered her lids demurely, glittering green eyeshadow highlighting the color in her eyes.

He took a jagged breath, reciting the Gnommish alphabet in his head to calm himself. She was far too good at knowing how to best present herself, and his relative inexperience with women was not making it easy for him to avoid looking like a babbling moron. Princess Frond was going to take a lot of getting used to. "Er...would you like to come inside?"

Her calculated movements faltered, eyes darting into the house, searching for its other resident. "Um...not really." She took a very small step back, trying to draw Grub with her. "Ready to go? We should try to get there before the crowd."

"Oh. Sure." Grub looked past his date to see that her car wasn't even parked properly, it's front angled several feet into the street in a premeditated effort to bypass any delaying protests he might make.

Grub paused in adjusting his jacket one last time, eyes sliding up the silver convertible and beyond. In front was a very familiar (and infuriating) blue car. "Huh...I guess Lope just got here, too." He finished buttoning the jacket, leaving the top clasp undone to allow his neck room to move.

Lili glanced over her shoulder at the car, shaking her head a fraction. "No. That was there when I got here, and I took a few minutes in the car." She blinked, squinting at the vehicle. "Is he still in there?"

Grub looked closer and saw the blurry form of a male elf in the driver's seat. "Yeah."

From behind him, Vinyáya popped her head out of the powder room, her hair—which was only halfway put up—swaying in a semi-tangled mess. "Lope? What's he doing here?"

"Councilman Lope is sitting in his car." Grub said, scowling at the stationary politician, who hadn't so much as looked at the house during the last minute of scrutiny. "Is he early?"

"Very," Vinyáya replied, struggling with her curled hair, managing to get the last bit up into the overflowing bun as she walked to the front door. "We don't need to be there for the ceremony prep, so I wasn't expecting him yet. Huh." She passed by Grub and Lili without further comment, approaching the car.

Lili followed Vinyáya's approach, her frown deepening. Suddenly, she turned to Grub and took his hand, tugging. "Let's get going! You can't be late for your own promotion!" Leaping off the steps, she landed expertly on her clear shoes, dragging her date along behind.

He followed obediently, glancing at the blue car right before he slid into his seat.

Lope was indeed staring ahead, and, though Grub could not see it, he was sure the Councilman wasn't blinking. When Vinyáya reached the car and tapped on the passenger side window, he took a long time turning his head to her. He must have unlocked the doors, as Vinyáya opened the passenger side and slid in, closing the door after her.

Grub wanted to keep watching, but Lili turned the wheel to it's limit so they swung about in a tight turn. She hit the accelerator and they were off, Grub whipping his head about to get one last look at the two council members before they were lost to sight.

* * *

"Aconite, you're early," Vinyáya reprimanded gently, flipping down the visor mirror and patting at her hair, popping her lips to inspect her hastily applied lipstick. "Do I have more time to get ready, or do we need to go now?"

Lope's hands squeezed the steering wheel, making a squeaking sound. "You're pregnant."

Vinyáya could feel her insides freeze. Lope had been on a diplomatic mission in Atlantis, as she had told Lili, and they had not talked since their last night together before his trip. The Council at large had been sent a few e-mails, but these were all business. This hadn't worried Vinyáya (or she hadn't let it worry her); they were both very busy people, and not every message could be a romantic ovation. "I...yes." She sat back, crossing her legs and resting her interlaced fingers on her lap. She resisted the urge to pull out the wrinkles in her tight blue dress. This outfit had been a mistake, it seemed, as it quite prominently displayed her rounding stomach. Apparently, the fetus had been obliging her by remaining mostly hidden during the first half of the pregnancy, but now it was surging out so fast she was already seeing a few of the dreaded "stretch marks." Luckily, she was able to get rid of those with a liberal application of magic.

Lope fell back in his seat at this admission, breathing out in a rush. "Five months, the media says."

She nodded, the loose strands of her hair whispering about her ears. "Yes. 21 weeks, actually."

"We've been seeing each other for...what...almost four months?"

Inside, she was tensing—except for her stomach, which was turning liquid, threatening to send a bitter stream of bile up her esophagus—but Vinyáya remained soft and serene in her attitude. She looked at her stomach, still somewhat perplexed by it's state, then back up to Lope's face, to make sure he didn't think she was glancing away in shame. "I found out a few weeks before accepting your offer."

Lope finally turned his head to look at her, and a less battle-hardened woman would have leaned away at least a fraction. There was a red rim about his eyes, along with a blue shadow under the lids. Every other time she had seen the man, he was almost a young adult in appearance, and at most middle-aged. Now he had lines in his face that she had never seen before, and Vinyáya was sure it was not a lack of makeup that did this to him. When he spoke, it sounded more sleepy than hurt or angry. "You live with the father?"

"Yes. Captain Kelp." The Wing Commander flitted her hand in the direction of the now-absent convertible. "He just left with his date, Lili Frond." She wanted to put extra stress on Grub's attachment to the royal, but kept her voice neutral. "We were never dating. Frond seems to be making a good impression on him, though."

Lope blinked once, eyes remaining half-closed as they rose again, and his mouth also only expanded to half-open as he spoke. "Get out."

Vinyáya felt her heart seize, her hands instinctively (and annoyingly, in her mind) rising to cover her vulnerable womb as she was hit by his sharp words. "Aconite, Kelp and I are _not_ dating"

"Get. Out. Now."

Vinyáya did not move, except to clench her fists. "No! Why should I?"

"Because I _told_ you to!" Even though the lock was already disengaged, Lope hit the button to unlock it again, making the mechanism click feebly.

Vinyáya sighed, slouching to make herself more firmly entrenched in the seat. She put a hand to the side of her head, letting her elbow rest in the curve between door and window, propping her up. "I admit, I should have told you earlier, but I wasn't telling anyone. It was an arrangement between myself and the Kelps, and I had to keep my word."

"Oh, yes, you always keep your word." Lope sneered. "In fact, I have to commend you. Every time the subject of abortion came up in legislation, you always said you could never do it yourself." He nodded to her, making it more of a seated bow. "You have some principles. Even if you don't have enough to keep yourself from getting into this mess."

"If I _recall_," Vinyáya hissed, hormonal rage rising, "you've also been involved in a similar process with me, of late." She could feel energy humming through her muscles, urging her to attack, but she kept her body still. Despite this restraint, she had lost her suppleness, going into a dangerous intensity.

Lope shuddered at the memory. "Indeed. A good thing that foolish young elf knocked you up first. I don't want to deal with some part-breed _brat_."

Lope's head snapped to the side in an instant as Vinyáya brought her hand about, striking his cheek with so much force that the sound of the slap filled the car for several seconds.

He took some time to remain off-kilter, a deep red mark rising on his cheek, blue sparks appearing at the edges and slowly making their way in. Then he began to turn back, forcing more magic through his system, it's glow highlighting his dark eyes. He lowered his brows, raising a hand to his cheek, which he rubbed experimentally. "I believe it would be best if you got out like I _told_ you to."

"I was just leaving," Vinyáya muttered, turning in her seat. She had officially lost control, and yanked viciously on the door handle, smiling as she heard it crack. She kicked at the door, feeling a similar thrill at the groan of the overstretched gears, praying that something expensive and hard to reach was being torn asunder. "Have fun tonight, Councilman."

Lope chuckled, back to facing the street. "So diplomatic. Very well. I wish you a pleasant evening, Arnica."

Narrowing her eyes, the woman stepped out of the car. "It's 'Vinyáya.'" Using her stiletto-heeled shoe, the officer slamming the door behind her, thrilling as she felt the pop of the side panel going out of shape, though she was somewhat disappointed when the window didn't shatter under the assault. Ignoring Lope's barked protests about the damage, the wing commander walked back into her house, hips at full sway, and slammed that behind her, as well. At least she didn't have to worry about rushing her makeup. The issue of driving to the ceremony on her motorcycle while wearing a dress...that was a lot more troublesome.

* * *

For just this one night, new captains and majors were true celebrities in Haven. These fairies could now be given command of other officers, and the People were engrossed in watching them, wondering what sort of leaders were emerging this night. Only a dozen officers were up for promotion, which was about half of the normal output, so the media was in a frenzy to discover all they could about those that had made it. These fairies would be forgotten once the next society papers were out, but, for now, each one was under the closest scrutiny.

And none more so than Captain Grub Kelp, ex-lover to Councilwoman Vinyáya, now escorting Lili Frond, the closest thing the People had to a royal. The second her convertible pulled up to the valet line and the pair stepped out, the line of reporters surged towards them, mics outstretched. They pressed against the elves in an unseemly fashion, removing all notions of "personal space" in their panic to get that valuable candid picture or interview question. Grub looked dazed, but Lili just tucked her arm around his, pulling him close so she could whisper in his ear.

"Tell them you have no comments and you must get inside for the ceremonies. Look straight forward and a bit up. _Never_ catch anyone's eyes, or they will latch onto you. _Don't_ shove, but keep stepping forward. If you step on any toes, that's their fault."

Grub swallowed and gave a fraction of a nod, beginning the process of wading through the reporters. He found his height had some advantage, here, as it was impossible for anyone to meet his eyes unless he wished. He didn't have a particularly strong build, unlike his brother, but his chest was broad enough to clear a path for the woman who followed an inch or so behind.

"Kelp! Is it true that you are the father of Councilwoman Vinyáya's child?"

"Kelp! I've heard it's twins! Is that true?"

"Kelp! Rumors abound that this was a planned pregnancy by artificial insemination! Why would you leave the mother if this was true?"

Grub tensed at that last one, but Lili calmed him by stroking his hand, squeezing the fingers. "Wait until you read the conspiracy theories," she murmured, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"Frond! Why are you agreeing to date an expectant father?"

"Frond! Are you pregnant, as well?"

"Frond! Is Vinyáya acting as a surrogate for you and Kelp?"

Lili laughed at this, the sound like a crystal chandelier in a slight breeze. She waved at the last reporter, not giving him time, but showing her amusement at the absurd notion. "No comment."

"_Frond!_" Someone yelled, but it wasn't directed at the woman. It was an exclamation. "Is that Councilman Lope?"

Attention was divided in an instant, with the more politically-minded reporters dashing towards the car that had just pulled up.

Grub frowned, trying to keep his gaze focused forward. _No succumbing to temptation. No allowing anyone to catch your attention. Be strong. Be strong._

"Councilman! Where is Wing Commander Vinyáya?"

"I'd imagine she is coming on her own," the politician responded evenly, more at ease with these insistent questions than either Frond or Kelp.

"Councilman! Why didn't you come together?"

He tilted his head to the side, pursing his lips as he handed his keys off to a valet. "Well...why _would_ we?"

"All news sources indicate that you two are in a relationship, Councilman!"

"Well...then the news is a bit behind the times, eh? Go on, do your thing!" He flapped a hand at the reporters, weaving past the initial ball a he moved towards the entrance to the Haven convention center.

There were a few laughs at the urging, but the majority of the reporters were too busy trying to transmit the development to their editors.

Grub couldn't help it any longer. He whipped his head about to stare at Lope, finding him to be, indeed, quite alone.

The elder elf looked across at him and shrugged. "It appears the Councilwoman has decided to go it alone, as usual." He clapped Grub on the back in passing, not even bothering to wait for acknowledgement from event security.

"That bastard," Grub rumbled, barely loud enough for Lili to hear. He took a step towards the politician, fists clenched. "What the hell is he doing?"

Lili yanked on her dates arm, bringing him back around and grabbing on his chin to pull his face down to focus on her. "Calm _down,_ Grub. You may have a paycheck that says 'Captain Kelp,' but you can be demoted _damned_ easily if you attack someone with a dozen reporters ready to go wild over it!"

Grub narrowed his eyes at the blond, trying to jerk his head free from her grip. "You hear how fucking _amused_ he is by this, Lili! What did he _do_ to her?"

Lili was going to respond, but she never had the chance. At her shoulder stood a sprite with an oversizes microphone. Finding Grub looking in roughly her direction, she thrust the device over the elf's shoulder, screeching for a short interview. "Kelp! What do you think about this latest development between the Councilman and Vinyáya, the mother of your child!?"

Grub seemed stuck, eyes wide at his mistake. Then he lowered his brows as he leaned towards the microphone. "I think Lope is going to regret this, and very soon." Then he was standing straight, tugging on Lili's arm to bring them inside the convention center.

Once free of the paparazzi and alone in the halls, Lili looked up at her date, horrified. "Did you just _threaten_ Lope?"

"No," Grub objected, hand flying to his chest, as if he was shocked at the suggestion. "I mean, no one can _prove_ I did, right?" He smirked.

Lili watched him closely for a long time, one corner of her lips raised, then shook her head. "You're an idiot, Grub."

He nodded somberly. "So I've been told."

* * *

When Vinyáya arrived, she did so in her normal fashion: weaving between cars on her magna-bike, charging to the front of the line, and stopping on a dime (if the People _had_ dimes) before a stunned crowd. She took off her helmet carefully, patting at her hair to make sure it wasn't irreparably crushed, smiling when she found it perfect. Clipping the helmet onto one of the handles, from which she then removed a small handbag, Vinyáya surveyed the valets, all young fairies from LEPTraffic. "Well...any of you know how to ride one of these?" She patted the body of the bike affectionately, thrilling at its continued rumbles.

A green-haired pixie stepped forward, raising his hand. "I can, Wing Commander!" He looked both excited and terrified, eyes devouring the blue and silver frame. Taking control of that infamous magna-bike...it would be like going out on a pony roundup and catching the phantom stallion.

"Don't scratch her, Sergeant." Vinyáya pulled one leg in close to her body, aided by a new slit she had made from the ankle-length bottom of the dress up to the joint between her hip and tight thigh, and dismounted. She barely managed to avoid giving the paparazzi a sensational photo, and smirked at the disappointed camera men. Tossing her keys to the trembling pixie, she strode towards the entrance. Her arrival had caught the media so off-guard that only one fairy managed to get a question out.

"Councilwoman! Why aren't you here with Councilman Lope?"

"Because he's an asshole!" she barked before her sense of diplomacy emerged, and then she was inside the building, berating herself. That would be all over the vids for _weeks_. She could see it now: "Pregnant Commander loses lover, loses another, and loses mind!"

She had taken her time getting to the convention center, with most of the guests already seated. As she walked towards the grand entryway to the ballroom, she caught sight of a small side corridor, where the ceremony stars were already lined up.

Grub was, of course, among their number, standing on his tip-toes, as if he actually needed to do that to be seen. Only one or two officers in line were taller than him, and one of those was a buck demon of nearly double the height of the pixie officers.

Finally locating his room mate, Grub made sure their eyes locked. He cocked his head to the side, brows lowered, asking a silent, concerned question

Vinyáya gave him a thumbs up and flash of blood-lusting teeth, waltzing past and into the banquet hall. She was ready for a pleasant night, recent dumping notwithstanding or even really mattering. A short ceremony followed by a sumptuous dinner and an evening filled with dancing. Vinyáya hummed to herself as she approached her table, eyes adjusting to the candlelight after the painful camera flashes.

Hand resting on the back of her chair, ready to pull it out, Vinyáya froze. It took some effort to get her mouth to work as she addressed the woman who was seated to her right, in the spot where Lope should have been located. Presumably, he had called ahead for an emergency seating rearrangement. Noting how the seats had been assigned, Vinyáya wondered if he had asked specifically for this new partner. "Ah...I did not expect to see you here."

Hibiscus Brenner looked up at her from the rim of her wine glass, which she had been fingering to make sing. "Why, Wing Commander! So _good_ to see an acquaintance tonight."

Once again, Vinyáya was forced to recognize the annoying disparity in their ages. While she looked, at the very worst, like a human woman in her mid-thirties, Brenner was a perpetual twenty-six year old. Her hair blazed in the dim lighting, cascading down her bare shoulders, sneaking into the deep valley of her cleavage, which was precariously held in by the sweetheart neckline and string-thin straps of her black cocktail dress. Despite her own approaching maternity, Vinyáya held the firm belief that no mother should look so saucy.

The commander made a mental note to find out who had authorized the reordering of her table, followed by another note on blanking out the records on her neutrino when all was said and done. "Ms. Brenner. Shouldn't you be outside with the other reporters?"

"No, no," the svelte woman breezed, swirling her goblet, "I have some new blood out there. I'm here because my _son_ is being promoted, you know. This seat..._suddenly_ came up empty, and I just had to pounce on it." She took a sip of wine, studying the vintage with deep interest.

"Hmmm." Vinyáya pulled out her chair and took a seat, giving her store of manners a mental review before delicately placing her crossed palms on the table directly in front of her plate. One wrong use of the butter knife and Hibiscus would add "uncultured boar" to the list of insults in her next column. Still, she had spent _years_ on the Council, attending high-class events. She could be completely elegant while still being a total bitch; it was one of her many talents, actually. "When was the last time you spoke with your son? A pleasant conversation, I hope?"

Hibiscus smiled back, mirroring Vinyáya's cultured mask of cheer. "Oh, we had our little disagreement, but that's behind us." The fact that it was only "behind" them because the issue had been solved by the Wing Commander invading her home, rather than a reconciliation, was not voiced, but the reporter did reach for her knife as she said the words, stabbing it into a piece of bread before filling the hole with butter. "And you, Wing Commander? How have things been between you and my son?"

Vinyáya was suddenly aware that everyone within a twenty foot radius was watching them, with varying degrees of circumspection. She took her glass, which had just been filled by a passing waiter, and played with the growing condensation at the waterline. "Ah...pleasant, I'd say. We just had another visit with the obstetrician. The baby is due in nineteen weeks."

There was a sudden flash in Hibiscus's eyes and she leaned over the table, completely forgetting her warm roll and almost knocking over her goblet. "Really? Boy or girl?"

Vinyáya was in the middle of a drink, but finished it quickly, patting at her lips with a napkin. "No idea. I declined to be told. Though I do believe Grub wanted to know. I'm just not sure I can trust him to keep a secret like that."

"I don't know," Hibiscus protested, eyebrows rising. "He seems to be fairly good about keeping secrets from people."

Vinyáya looked down at her plate, her lips beginning to twitch. "That he does."

* * *

**Preview: Somebody's gonna hurt someone/ before the night it through./ Somebody's gonna come undone./ There's nothin' we can do.**


	27. This Night is Gonna Last Forever

**Quite a few important notes, I will try to be brief!**

**1. Wedding "crunch time" is upon me. That means a lot of my free time until June 12th is devoted to making sure I get married correctly. This means, as you can imagine, less of my free time goes to things like "pleasure reading" and "fanfiction" and "sleep." So...you wont see as much of me until the honeymoon is over. Now, I _do_ want to note that I can post on occasion, so I won't disappear, and I can also continue my slacking/writing at work (and probably a bit on the honeymoon, when I'm not doing...other things), so there will be a sizeable backlog of stuff to type up once things calm down. AND I will likely be a stay-at-home wife once June is over, so I may be able to type up massive amounts of stuff. We'll see, but just bear with me until then. As you can imagine, getting married is pretty important.**

**2. This is actually pretty beneficial for my quality. Everything you've seen so far for _In Another's Eyes_ has been straight-up typed. Normally, I write by hand, then type up. Thus the difference in quality between this and the all-written _The Dead, the Broken, and the Living_. After chapter 29, look for an upping in quality (except for chapters 35, 45, 47, 49, 51, 57, and 58, which are already typed, but they're pretty good). I will never be one of those authors that can just type things up and be utterly brilliant. Or at least satisfied with their work.**

**2. For those of you who didn't know, my podfic of _Like I Like My Coffee_ is now available at Audiofic. The site's main address is audioficDOTjinjurlyDOTcom. Wont be hard to find, but may be hard to listen to without giggling or cringing (maybe that's just me). Expect more podfic after the wedding, as well.**

**3. SUPER-AMAZING, I CAN'T GET OVER IT, YOU ALL NEED TO SPEND THE NEXT EIGHT HOURS LISTENING TO THIS!!! _Reparo_, a Harry Potter audiobook by amalin, read by pennyplainknits. Also on Audiofic. It...is...AMAZING. It's like J.K. Rowling did an eighth book, and decided to acknowledge that people have SEX! With _each other!_**

**4. There has been some vague talk about putting together a _full cast_ to do a long Artemis Fowl podfic. _Book of Ages_, most likely, if it's finished by summertime. Who would be interested in doing something like this?**

* * *

**Song: "Heartache Tonight" by Michael Bublé. The version by the Eagles is also acceptable (and possible better, considering the next song is also by Bublé), but much less sexy. Mmmm...Bublé....**

* * *

**Chapter 27: This Night is Gonna Last Forever**

**Week 21-Part 2**

The promotion ceremony was short and well-organized; a true testament to the skills of Lili, Cirrus, and Tuyet. There was only one minor slip-up, if it could be called that: as Trouble Kelp put the Captain's acorns on his little brother's chest, he also reached up and ruffled the elf's hair, making him scowl at the ruined coiffure and glare at his brother indignantly. Then Grub was off to join the line of officers already served, patting his hair back into place, giving the Commander a few more dirty looks. Everyone laughed at this display, and Grub was soon becalmed, looking straight ahead, his chest puffed out like a strutting peacock.

He had noticed his mother and ex-lover seated at the same table during his entrance, but had only responded with a few rapid blinks, as if sure one of them were a mirage. Or a sign of the end of the world (a lot of those seemed to be popping up in his life, lately). Then he caught sight of Lili and was stuck on her for the few moments during the ceremony when he was not forced to look forward into a line of blinding lights that were augmented every few seconds by the camera flashes of the reporters.

Hibiscus and Vinyáya, for their part, did not disrupt the evening...much. Their dinner partners (Councilman Nicolai and his wife) kept giving each other pained smiles, scooting their chairs ever closer to each other (and, thus, further from the mothers), but there was no all-out brawl. When Vinyáya asked Hibiscus who had supplied her with that _exquisitely_ bright shade of lipstick, Hibiscus bit her tongue and gave the name of the store, ignoring the unsaid adjectives in regards to the color. When a waiter accidentally inquired as to what vintage of wine Vinyáya would be drinking that evening, she protested that she was pregnant and couldn't _possibly_ do something to hurt her child. What sort of mother would do something they knew would cause their offspring any sort of _pain_, by the gods?

Vinyáya was sure that there would be a _very_ interesting society piece on her behavior in the next week's tabloids, but she really couldn't bring herself to care. Interestingly enough, some of the tabloids had begun to follow Hibiscus's treatment of the wing commander as a drama in and of itself. With any luck, that would encourage Brenner to be somewhat intelligent in her reporting. Of course, she _was_ a Kelp, after all, even if formerly and just by marriage. She wasn't going to make any plans based on her hopes for the woman's circumspection.

When the meal following the ceremony was over, Vinyáya watched as the Nicolais left to take their places on the dance floor, deflating at the sight. She, like most elves, really did enjoy dancing, and losing a good partner like Lope was something to mourn, even if he was an emotional fuck-wit. She settled in for an evening of catty comments with Hibiscus, not altogether depressed over the coming battle.

Then came a deep, cheery voice that made everything seem brighter. "Ladies?" Trouble said, clearly asking many questions as he took one of the empty seats, spinning it around to sit backwards, arms folded lazily over the high back. "Enjoying your evening?"

Hibiscus chittered happily, laying a hand on her eldest son's upper arm. "Oh, Trouble, dear, it's been _wonderful_. Your brother was brilliant, and I've been having the most amusing conversation with the Wing Commander." She looked at Vinyáya, eyes narrowing a bare fraction, smile widening to an equal degree.

Trouble winced. "Great. Well. I'm afraid I have, once again, found myself dateless—"

Squeezing his arm, Hibiscus crooned. "Honey, it's okay. You really need to take some time off from dating, anyway."

Trouble frowned, thinking on this. "Perhaps you're right." He grabbed Councilman Nicolai's wineglass, downing the entire drink (only a large gulp, but one taken without any sign of strain from the alcohol) in an effort to wash the thought away. He tapped the glass back to the table and continued. "Be that as it may, I am not going to spend the evening sulking in my chair. So...." He smirked, extending his hand.

Hibiscus stood. "Oh, honey, I'd...." She stopped halfway up, the hand that rested on the table to steady her beginning to tremble.

Trouble was holding his hand out to Vinyáya, smiling roguishly. The Kelp grin, as it was famously known, and far more powerful from the originator of the move than from his little brother. "It wont be too weird to dance with the brother of your child's father?"

Vinyáya thrilled at the idea of pairing with one of the best dancers in all of the Lower Elements, ignoring the possible awkwardness of their filial relationship. She glanced at Hibiscus, ready to gloat, but found she couldn't smirk.

The woman was looking away from them, biting the corner of her lips. She sank slowly, trying to avoid notice from her presumptuous blunder, and took another draught of wine.

Vinyáya faltered, but only for a moment, and returned to Trouble's question. "I...no, not at all." She placed her hand in Trouble's, rising in a long, elegant movement as she allowed herself to be led across the dance floor. Glancing back, she saw Hibiscus watching her eldest son walk away with the same woman that had taken away her youngest, twisting a napkin reflexively between her hands. For once, neither woman glared.

* * *

_Every_ woman on the dance floor was glaring at Vinyáya. And, this time, it wasn't her fault! She was elated. Trouble had three well-earned aspects to his reputation: LEP playboy, hot-shot pilot, and best dancer the People had seen in centuries. Vinyáya was no klutz herself, and she was soon laughing in delight as she was swept across the dance floor, forced into a higher skill level by Trouble's powerful, inescapable lead.

"Thanks for not biting my mother's head off," Trouble whispered when he had pulled her back from a spin. "She's not the most pleasant woman to deal with, but she _is_ my mother."

Vinyáya nodded, feet automatically moving in a complicated pattern, weaving along with Trouble's own nimble toes. "She is a challenge, I'll give her that. And she hasn't lightened up one bit since the dinner we all had."

"I don't know," Trouble hedged, lifting Vinyáya into the air, grunting as he realized he hadn't accommodated for her swelling stomach, resulting in a sloppy landing that thankfully did not lead to a spill. He hadn't dropped a partner in decades, and starting off with a pregnant woman wasn't an idea he relished. "She didn't say anything about...what she wanted, at first, did she?" He looked significantly at the other commander's stomach, shuddering at the idea.

"No...." Vinyáya paused as she was put into a long swing out, momentarily shocked at the violence of Trouble's tremor. Abortion wasn't the most tasteful idea to the People, but she hadn't anticipated him to be so shaky when mentioning it. "It's only," she started again, then waited while she was flipped to the opposite side in another sweep, "she still doesn't seem happy with how things are going. I sort of hoped she'd be over it, by now."

Trouble put both of his hands on Vinyáya's hips, pushing her in front of him as they took several steps across the floor. "Can't blame her. I think she thought Grub would be her live-in baby forever."

"Eek!" Vinyáya squealed as she was spun about and put in a quick dip, making sure to keep her knee bent so no one would get a thrill from a full split. When she was upright, she growled, warning Trouble not to try that again. She was unbalanced, of late, her center of gravity too off-kilter to do anything complicated, and Trouble acknowledged this with a nod. "Well, then she's kind of creepy."

Laughing, Trouble pulled Vinyáya into a slow side Charleston. "No. Just alone."

"Oh...but she has you to visit her, after all."

Trouble sighed, shaking his head and pushing on Vinyáya's back to make her step out for a half-measure, then pulling in again so she was back to the rhythmic moves. "No. I've refused to see her since the dinner, as well."

Vinyáya's gaze was drawn to Hibiscus, who was making herself busy pulling a piece of bread apart crumb by crumb, resolutely not looking at the dance floor, as if she found the wheat roll fascinating. "Why?"

"Solidarity." Trouble squeezed Vinyáya's hand, pulling her into a closed position as the song began to wind down. "Grub needs all the support he can get, and that means I can't give Mother the chance to rant. She needs to work this out on her own."

"But...then she hasn't seen either of you...."

Trouble was smiling down at the slightly smaller elf as they rocked back and forth for the final steps. "Keeping a parent from a child...I'm surprised you disapprove, Wing Commander."

The music was still in its last bars, but Vinyáya stopped their dance, looking away from her partner and instead towards the ground. "Low blow, Kelp." She pulled herself free of Trouble's hands, weaving her way through the dancers, leaving her partner on the floor.

Steeling herself for unpleasantness, she returned to the table and turned her chair so she could face Hibiscus, leaning with one shoulder against the side of the chair.

The society matron stopped focusing on her glass of wine, which she had been swirling for the past minute, and glared at the officer. "Seducing my eldest, now?"

"Oh, _gods_, no!" Vinyáya shuddered, fanning at her face, still blown from the dancing. "No offense, but he's not my type."

"What?" Hibiscus hissed, tossing back the last of the wine. "A grown man? Able to defend himself?"

"That is not a prerequisite of mine, no, and I believe that both of your sons have shown themselves up to the task of defending their own honor. They just don't want to." Finding her opponent less than amused, Vinyáya shifted to place an elbow on the table, leaning over so she could rest her head on her hand. Only five months into this pregnancy and she was already having issues staying still and comfortable. Not good. "Look, what is your problem with me?"

Hibiscus clutched at the neck of the wine glass, barely restraining herself enough to keep from destroying the crystal. "You _seduced_ my son!"

"...besides that."

"Besides that? _Besides that_?" Hibiscus was working herself into a rather good rant, fueled by three months of seething, a life-time of snarky writing, and three cups of rather good wine. "You've _ruined_ his life!"

Vinyáya, performing as she usually did when she was trying to remain as stubbornly casual as possible, began to play with the tips of her hair. "Really? How?"

"You're forcing him to take care of your _brat!_"

The pregnant woman actually winced at this repetition of Lope's words. Weren't grandmothers supposed to be doting wise-women who speculated on sex by asking about conception position and how the baby was being carried, all while making massive amounts of fetus-growing food? "First of all, I had planned on going this alone, but your youngest did _insist_ on being involved, once he found out." She paused, suddenly realizing that Hibiscus might be able to solve the greatest mystery of the past few months. "Any idea why he'd do that? No offense, but your son isn't what I'd call a 'step-up' kind of guy, in general"

Hibiscus gave one of those polite society coughs that told you to drop the subject before you got bitch-slapped. "None. Whether he volunteered or not, you have still ruined his life."

Vinyáya began to laugh.

A passing waiter grew concerned for the fine glasswork Hibiscus held, stopping to ask if she would like more to drink. She seemed to note his concern, taking her hand away to twist her less-valuable napkin, only continuing the confrontation when her glass was full and the waiter had left. "What is so _funny_?"

"You." Vinyáya wiped at her eyes, taking away actual tears of mirth, rather than simply acting as if she was. That small cry was made infinitely easier by her only hours-passed breakup, but she was glad to find she hadn't descended into sobs once the dam was cracked (though certainly not broken). "Ruined his life.... Ms. Brenner, do me a favor and look at your son."

With a confused scowl, the writer turned in her seat, scanning the dance floor. She soon found Grub near the edge.

He was standing up straight, except for his head, which was bent enough to rest his chin on the crown of Lili Frond. She was leaning against his chest, one hand playing with his new acorns, the other resting on his upper arm, which she also stroked, feeling the muscles that were just beginning to help truly fill out his form. He kept both of his arms about the blond's back, rubbing idly as they swayed. They did not look at each other, and this must have been out of self-preservation, as they were already displaying faces dyed a deep red from embarrassment, as the entire ballroom was glancing in their direction every few moments.

"Do you think," Vinyáya said, bringing her chair closer to Hibiscus so they sat nearly touching at their knees, allowing the commander to speak at a whisper, "that he would have gone for a promotion this side of the century if he didn't have a reason?"

"...no." Hibiscus picked up her newly filled glass of wine, but did not drink, instead looking into the dark liquid, searching for her reflection.

"Or that he would have succeeded for any other reason than a child if he _did_ try for that promotion?"

The "no" was much quicker this time, and also quieter.

"Would he had decided it was time to move out?"

"Grub? No. He was always the one who loved being at home, taking care of things. A real relief to me, once his father passed and I had to go back to work. Trouble, now...." Hibiscus turned to Vinyáya, eyes shining as she anticipated talking about her boys. Then she seemed to remember whom she was talking to and turned back to the dancers. "Trouble always wanted to move out. He did it the second he got a big enough paycheck. Used to visit all the time, though...."

Vinyáya was prepared with one last question, and it felt the harshest in her mouth. "Do you think...if he hadn't been forced to grow up into...a good man...that he would have _ever_ had a chance with a woman like Frond?"

Once again, Hibiscus was looking at Vinyáya, but now she was confused, not doting. "Aren't you jealous of her?"

Vinyáya jerked back, brows lowered. "Jealous? Why?"

"Well, you said it yourself: he's turned into a good man, and now she has him. Not you."

Despite herself, Vinyáya looked at the dance floor.

Lili lifted her head off Grub's shoulder, and they smiled at each other. Though she had to stand on the tips of her toes to do it, the woman reached up and kissed her date, turning it from a small brush to something much deeper as he tightened his hold around her waist, ignoring the press's rapidly flashing cameras and a few catcalls from a nearby table of other new captains who were a few cups too deep in their wine.

Vinyáya looked back to Hibiscus, shrugging. "No. Not really."

The experienced mother examined her opponent carefully, mentally tabulating everything she saw. She smirked. "You, Councilwoman, are not as good a liar as you think you are."

"And you, Ms. Brenner, are not as good a people-reader as _you_ think you are. Now." Vinyáya stood, holding her palms out towards the other woman. "Stay there. I'll be right back." Then she was off with the speed typical of a skilled officer, leaving her dinner partner confused, but obediently still.

Hibiscus became even more confused, though her eyes flashed in delight, when Vinyáya returned one minute later. She brought with her Grub and Trouble Kelp, and "brought" was the correct term, as they were both wincing at the firm grip she had on their necks, their shoulders hunched to try and relieve some of the strain. Behind that trio was a scowling Lili Frond, who did not like the idea of her date being man-handled by such an inconvenient character.

Ignoring all protests, Vinyáya pushed Grub and Trouble into empty chairs next to their mother. "You three. _Talk_." Before anyone could defy her, the wing commander turned to Lili. "Lieutenant."

Lili opened her mouth, but was immediately steamrolled by Vinyáya proclaiming "Restroom! Girls...are supposed to go together, right?" She lowered her brows, genuinely unsure, having only recently been put into social situations with other high-ranking women, thanks to the recent rise of Short. Short, as it happens, was not a communal urination supporter, so Vinyáya only had a vague notion of the practice.

Lili blinked. Then she looked at the three related elves and got it. "Oh. Right. Restroom. Let's."

"Super!" Vinyáya hooked her arm around Lili's, dragging her away from the stunned family.

Despite the blond's willingness to leave the family alone, she was horrified to see that the bathroom actually _was_ approaching. "What are you _doing_, Wing Commander?"

Vinyay grumbled, slamming the door open, startling a trio of women standing open-mouthed at the bathroom mirrors, trying to apply their mascara (Vinyáya had never understood that procedure, as the mouth was in _no way_ connected to the eyes). "Little thing to look forward to when Kelp gets _you _in this situation: fetuses have a damned radar system installed so they can kick you right in the bladder." She let Lili go, prowling down the stalls.

Lili paled. "G-Grub and I aren't—" She was unable to continue as Vinyáya cried in triumph and shoved a door open and disappeared inside.

When Vinyáya exited again, she found Lili leaning against the long row of sinks, fist to her face and chewing on her thumbnail. The commander rolled her eyes and went to a sink two places over, to maintain her space, and began to wash her hands and splash water on the back of her neck, ignoring the detrimental effect it had on her appearance. It wasn't like she was going to pick up some hot elf for a one-night stand tonight. Unless they had some weird pregnancy fetish, and that just wasn't going to work for her.

After a few minutes of rest, with no calming on Lili's side, Vinyáya drummed her fingers on the black marble counter. "Frond, calm down. Kelp is not going to try to knock you up."

Lili stopped biting her nail, looking at Vinyáya. "Really? You're sure?" She looked at the ruined manicure, cursing. "D'arvit...I just had these done yesterday."

"I think one mood-swinging woman that's able to kick his ass is enough for him, at the moment." Vinyáya took a deep breath, then another and another. She moaned, putting a hand to her chest. "It's so hard to _breath_ in there." At Lili's concerned look, she poked at her stomach. "Getting a bit crowded. Pushing on my lungs, the doctor says."

Lili stared at her, mouth slightly agape.

Realizing that she was actually—horror of horrors—discussing pregnancy symptoms, Vinyáya made a show of looking for a clean towel to dry off her neck.

Lili watched her for a little while, then she smiled. With a little careful maneuvering (necessary in her high heels), Lili vaulted onto the counter, groaning as her feet were given respite. She wriggled her toes, making sure to focus on the writhing digits as she spoke. "Councilman Lope...."

Vinyáya froze, then sighed, putting both hands on the countertop to steady herself. "Yes?"

Lili shrugged. "I never liked him, myself."

Vinyáya looked at her, brows raised in surprise. "Really. I thought everyone liked him. The voice of a moderate, _sensible_ Haven."

Lili kicked her feet, rolling her eyes at the man's unofficial title. "_Please_. Sometimes 'moderate' is just another way to say 'spineless line-straddler.'"

"I...." Vinyáya tried to keep neutral, but soon she was chuckling and nodding. "Yes. I have to agree." Tentatively, she lay a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Thank you, Frond." She felt a current of electricity at the touch; a feeling she would have normally associated with sexual tension, but she was confident there was nothing of that variety drawing her to the Frond. Perhaps it was just the simple physical contact that she would have thought impossibly only a moment before.

Ever ready to return such favors, Lili reached up and covered that hand with her own, squeezing. "No problem. Just..." She scowled, eyes transitioning back to the fierceness she had displayed back in the Wing Commander's office. "Don't go around grabbing my boyfriend again. If you try to seduce Grub, I will kill you."

With a little jerk, which she stopped midair, transitioning to a smooth retreat, Vinyáya took her hand back, reaching up to pat her hair. "Fair enough, I suppose."

* * *

The female officers talked of nonsense things for the next half hour, each reveling in the opportunity to rest their already aching feet. When they left to find their companions again, they were shocked and dismayed to see Grub and Trouble standing alone.

Lili frowned. "Where's your mother? Weren't you talking things out?"

Trouble put a hand to his forehead, shaking it. "That...went about as well as you can imagine." At their puzzled look, Trouble jerked his head to the side.

Not ten meters away, Lope stood, surrounded by a few reporters and more than a few svelte ladies. His recent separation from the Wing Commander had done nothing to stymie his popularity, only making him available for pursuit. His gaze was roving about the potential conquests, giving them each a smile, but he focused the majority of his attention on one woman who was slightly older than the rest, but who also had the advantage of holding a microphone, backed by a camerawoman.

Hibiscus was tittering prettily as she asked Lope questions, laying her hand on her bosom and letting the fingers play there in a quite suggestive manner. This had the intended effect of drawing Lope's gaze down into the great chasm of her cleavage, at which point she would pat him on the shoulder with the microphone, pursing her lips in indignation at the lechery, but quickly transitioning to taking a sip from her flute of white wine before licking her lips and asking her next question. The odd rhythm of the interview was making Lope pause whenever he had to speak, but the sexual atmosphere was drawing him into Hibiscus, and they were a few breaths from being pressed together all along their flanks.

Lili scowled, clenching her fists and stomping a foot. "What? I thought she would have gotten over her issues! Ugh! I can't believe that stubborn—"

Grub held up a hand, signaling Lili to hold off, and then wrapped his arm about the woman's waist, pulling her close to help ease the potential sting of his wordless command. He was grinning like mad.

Hibiscus leaned into Lope, rising to her tip-toes to whisper something in his ear. Something that made his pupils dilate in an instant. As she pulled away, the reporter barely nipped the politician's ear (the sight caused both Kelp boys to gag, though they couldn't bring themselves to look away), but it had the intended effect. He leaned sideways, resting his arm around Hibiscus's shoulder and pulling her back to him. She laughed and accepted the clutch, gasping as he returned the favor of a risqué whisper and love bite. She seemed to turn gooey, all of her muscles relaxing.

Including the one that held her glass. For an instant, the wine rested at the precipice, its golden color catching and throwing the light like a yellow-tinted diamond. Then it was too late, and a thick stream fell from the glass, the entire contents emptying in a moment.

Directly onto the crotch of Councilman Lope.

He felt the cold of the chilled wine in an instant and sprang back, but it was far too late. His suit slacks had born the brunt of the assault, with a dark blotch and trailing line of wetness that looked—at best—a little embarrassing. Lope, now out of the direct circle of his admirers, looked down at his soiled outfit, making noises of choked outrage.

Hibiscus sprang back, screeching. "Councilman! I'm _so_ sorry!" She turned to her camerawoman, mouthing something as she searched in the woman's camera bag, winking at the nervous-looking sprite while she took out a towel. Turning back to Lope, she continued her apologies. "I am _so_ sorry. Let me get that for you, Councilman, I'm sure we can set this right in just a few minutes." She began to dab at Lope's groin, shaking.

Vinyáya had the distinct impression the convulsions were from withheld laughter. Instantly, Hibiscus earned a few dozen brownie points.

Lope pushed his helper back with more force than was really necessary. "I'm _fine_, madam."

"It was an accident!"

"I'm _well aware_ of that," he growled in a not very convincing manner and stood, shaking his leg to get rid of some of the moisture, though it was obviously a lost cause. He looked at Hibiscus, eyes narrowed. After a long pause, he bowed at her, muttering wishes that she had a good evening, and took his leave, a few brave women trailing behind him for a few meters before giving up in a huff, turning to throw visual daggers at Ms. Brenner.

Hibiscus held out a hand after him, mouth open as if she wished to give some final apologies. When he did not stop, that hand fell to her side and she trudged off the floor.

Directly to the side of her sons.

Vinyáya was doing her best to withhold a smile. The paparazzi was everywhere, and the wrong expression would be the cause of much drama for weeks. "Lope doesn't look very happy."

"No," Ms. Brenner breezed, "I don't believe he does. A real pity." She paused, tapping her lips with one long, manicured finger. "If Chelsea managed to catch his expression, I believe I shall give her a bonus."

Vinyáya nodded curtly. "Oh, most definitely. A raise, even."

"Oh, quite!"

Lili rolled her eyes. "Aren't you two supposed to be the adults around here?"

"Miss Frond," Hibiscus rejoindered, fanning at her face, which was still flush with wine and a little action, "we're all adults here."

Vinyáya looked between the three family members, measuring their actions. She smiled in approval. "And...adults can work out their differences?"

Hibiscus let her hand fall to clasp with the other at her waist, wringing them together. "Yes...we came to an agreement, my sons and I. I will stop the exposés...unless you do something _really_ news-worthy. Seriously, you can't expect me to pass up good drama, can you?"

"No. I guess I can't." Vinyáya shrugged, letting that small thing go. "And?"

"Well...the decision to go through with this...with the pregnancy, is _your_ decision, and Grub does support you, so...." She nodded to herself, looking defeated, despite her calm words. "I suppose I'll support him supporting you."

Vinyáya held out a hand to shake. "_That_ I can deal with."

Hibiscus looked at Vinyáya's hand for a while, as if not sure what to do during this little ritual. Then she looked at Vinyáya's stomach.

Vinyáya felt her infallible warning system kick in. No. This was not good. This was not good at _all_. She took a step back.

Hibiscus rushed past Vinyáya's proffered shake, placing her hands on the pregnant woman's belly. "And this means I'll get to see my _grandchild!_" She began to talk long streams of nonsense at the wing commander's torso, blowing raspberries at the swell.

Vinyáya looked down, eyes wide in panic. "Oh, no," she choked, feeling a sudden trickle of fear-sweat run down her back. "The belly-touching. It _begins_."

* * *

**Preview: ****I might have to wait./ I'll never give up./ I guess it's half timing,/ and the other half's luck./ Wherever you are./ Whenever it's right./ You'll come out of nowhere and into my life.**


	28. I'll Give So Much More Than I Get

**Song: "Just Haven't Met You Yet" by Michael Bublé. Yes, this is totally what Grub is listening to, by the way. Also, listen to this song and don't think of it as a love song, think of it as a song from father to unborn child, and tell me: does that not make a LOT more sense?**

* * *

**Chapter 28: I'll Give So Much More Than I Get**

**Week 22**

If not for the fact that fairies are nocturnal and such a phrase is rather nonsensical, it could have been said that they "danced until dawn." Even Vinyáya, lately so exhausted by gestation, was kept up late by Trouble Kelp, who had apparently decided to adopt her as his main partner for the evening, only relinquishing her briefly when the wing commander looked ready to faint, at which point he would be accosted by any number of other females in attendance (his mother and Lili included). Vinyáya didn't complain much, given what a catch her new partner was, but she was thankful when Trouble drove behind the bleary woman on her way home, and further blessed the gods when he merely gave her a wave and turned his car around once she reached the door, rather than making some sort of awkward advance. She'd been involved with one Kelp, and that was enough. A bunch of breeders, they were.

Vinyáya was awakened a few hours later by the sounds of Grub and Lili stumbling in, giggling madly and shushing each other, obviously quite drunk. To her great relief, Vinyáya was not treated to the sounds of the guest room's squeaky mattress, and Lili left a few minutes later, all in the house falling into deep slumber shortly thereafter.

The next day was Sunday, and one of the few weekend days that Vinyáya had not scheduled herself in for a half-shift at the Plaza. Actually...she had originally told Cirrus that she would be in to process some paperwork in peace, but he had glared, left the room, and come back ten minutes later with a note from Foaly, informing the workaholic that her access cards would be blocked until Monday morning, to make sure she didn't ruin herself with the ceremony combined with no day off that weekend. The note was doubly signed, with the second contributor being Doctor White, who told her, in no uncertain terms, that she would put in a recommendation to the Council to have the woman tied to her bed if she didn't rest properly. Vinyáya had tried to make a risqué joke out of that threat, but Cirrus was having none of it.

So Vinyáya did something she hadn't done in 100 years: she slept past midnight. When she awoke and realized this, she was particularly impressed, as her swelling belly made any sort of sleep quite uncomfortable. The only reasons for her awakening were her throbbing bladder and her stomach, which roared like a tyrannosaur. Despite this, she took another fifteen minutes to laze about, rolling side to side so the covers became tucked around her, turning the woman into a Wing Commander burrito. The warmth was working to pull her back into slumber, but something at the edge of her consciousness was whispering to her. No...not...whispering, precisely..._singing._

Vinyáya's eyes remained slightly squinted as they opened, her ears twitching. No, that was not her conscious, or even her deep subconscious. She definitely heard singing, and nothing of any particular quality. There was also a lack of musical instruments to accompany the voice, and that could only mean one thing: it was not a recording. Someone was singing in her house. Given that her own lips were firmly closed, Vinyáya soon realized what this meant.

"Oh, I've _gotta_ see this," she said, and slid out of bed. It was one of the cooler nights in Haven, given a recent lack of flare activity, so she took one of the dark blue blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders, taking a moment to purr in satisfaction as the warmth extended to her neck. Then, remembering her goal, Vinyáya picked up the bottom edge of the blanket in one hand to keep it from swishing against the wood flooring and alerting her quarry, and made her way into the hall.

Definitely singing, and not from the guest bedroom. From the secondary guest bedroom (having all of these rooms seemed like a good idea when Vinyáya had inherited the building from her parents, but she had run out of ideas for them quite quickly), where the door was cracked open. Her feet barely lifted the thickness of a piece of cardboard as the stealthy officer glided down the hall, making no sound as they fell, cat-like, back to the wood. She blessed her yearly maintenance on the house, which included a full oiling of the hinges. They were whisper-quiet as she put a hand to the door, pushing it open. Holding her breath, Vinyáya looked through.

Grub was dancing with a tape measure. Apparently, he hadn't had enough of swinging the night before, and was satisfying himself now. While he had undoubtedly been taking stock of the future nursery's dimensions (all of the furniture was now in the middle of the room, and there were a few pencil marks on the wall, the handwriting so minute that Vinyáya wasn't sure how anyone would find the notes useful), but had lost track of his project when he turned on his music. He had apparently splurged upon finding that he was no longer being forced to move and pay horrifically high rent, and was now sporting a rather massive set of over-the-ear headphones, his fairy player slotted into the side of a speaker. Vinyáya could dimly hear the music, now, and she had to admit that Grub couldn't carry this tune to save his life. The voice on the other end was far too smooth for his often-whiny, rarely deep tones, even if he was trying to deepen them as he sang, sounding like he was suffering from a speech impediment, rather than a recent surge of testosterone.

As she watched, Grub bounced along, at least keeping good track of the lyrics. He may have been a passable ballroom dancer, but Grub had obviously missed a lot of his brother's finesse, and dancing alone did not suit him. He was just a fraction more talented than the "funky chicken," but _just_ a fraction.

It was unavoidable. Vinyáya giggled once. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, irritated at the girlish noise.

Grub stopped dancing.

Whirling, Vinyáya disappeared back into the hall, flattening herself against the wall. Her heart hammered at the near-discovery. On her list of embarrassing things, being caught spying on Grub shot to the very top. Perhaps continued cohabitation with him _was_ a bad idea....

Vinyáya waited for a full minute, giving her heart and lungs the time to slow. Then, taking a deep (but quiet) breath, she walked down the hall.

She got two steps before shrieking.

Grub leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, head tilted, and one of the biggest grins in existence splattered across his face. He didn't say a word, keeping his gaze locked on Vinyáya.

She also didn't say a word, feeling a thin layer of sweat spring to her palms. She was caught.

Grub raised his eyebrows at her lack of response. After a full minute of this showdown, he put his arm out to the side, grabbing the doorknob. Taking one step away from the frame, he shut the door, waving.

Vinyáya allowed herself to crimson after the door closed. Was a decrease in hearing a pregnancy symptom? After allowing herself suitable time to mentally abuse herself, Vinyáya moved on down the hallway and into the kitchen, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets for something easy.

A bowl of cereal (and a terrifying reminder that she had a baby that had lately begun to kick her in the bladder) later, Vinyáya was settling down for a day of relaxation. She'd decided to eschew the survival horror for once, instead occupying herself with one of the many books Fowl had recommended to her. Some sort of Mud Man historical romance, though one with a lot of fighting and political strategy. Still, Vinyáya wasn't sure how to feel about this "guys in skirts" thing, even if Fowl _insisted_ it was some sort of special clothing called a "kilt" and entirely masculine. Vinyáya was a woman, and she knew a fashion-disaster skirt when she saw one.

Just as she had managed to enter the literary world, the gods of inconvenience decided to intervene. The doorbell rang.

Vinyáya waited for Grub to greet the visitor, feeling that she was far too firmly entrenched in the couch. At the second round of knocks, she realized that—while he could hear giggles from a few feet back—he probably couldn't hear knocking from a few dozen feet away. So, grumbling, Vinyáya rolled out of her hard-won comfy contortion and went to the door. She was ready for sharp words to whichever proselytizer or solicitor had decided to bother her on a Sunday, opening the door in a swift, almost violent manner.

"Good evening, dear," Hibiscus trilled, waving with her fingers.

Vinyáya stared at her.

Then she slammed the door.

A few seconds later, Grub popped his head out of the nursery, holding one headphone away from his ear. "Did my mother just get here?"

Vinyáya turned to look at him, blinking in a dazed fashion. "Why would she be?"

Grub walked up, taking the pencil out from behind his ears and shifting his headphones to rest about his neck. "She's got some old furniture from when Trouble and I were kids that might work for the nursery, and she's wants to help me find whatever else we'll need today."

"Why...would she do that?"

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "She's pretty excited, remember? First grandchild and all. So, is she here?"

Vinyáya's eyes darted to the door and back. "Um...."

The knocking began again.

Grub raised his eyebrows at Vinyáya. When she did not react, he put out one hand, tapping it sideways in the air, urging her to move away from the door. When she complied, Grub reached to the handle, opening the door to admit Hibiscus. "Evening, Mom. You're here early."

"Oh, there was less for me to pack up than I thought," Hibiscus breezed, taking off her jacket as she stood in the entryway, hanging it in the closet. "Your father packed everything up quite well, but a few of those pieces just don't look stable anymore. I mean, they _are_ over a century old. The crib is good, and I'm _delighted_ to say your great-grandmother's ro—"

"Shhh shhh shhh!" Grub said, clearly alarmed, holding his hands down in an attempt to lower his mother's volume. He shot a look at Vinyáya, which Hibiscus followed.

"Oh, sorry, Grub. I forgot." She smiled at Vinyáya. "I'm afraid we're _all_ quite forgetful today, aren't we."

Vinyáya opened her mouth for a suitable retort.

"_Mother!_" Grub growled lowly. He glared down at Hibiscus.

Her eyes went wide and supplicating, but to no effect. Reluctantly, she turned to Vinyáya, though her eyes would not rise to the woman's face. "I apologize. That was rude of me."

That was when things finally hit Vinyáya. The full events of the night before. Hibiscus was back in Grub's good graces, and that meant she and Grub were now back on speaking terms. Not "Mommy" and "Grubby" terms, but "Mom" and "Grub," (except when Hibiscus stepped out of line, and became a warning "Mother") and that meant...she could _visit_.

Internally, Vinyáya wailed. Outwardly, she waved a hand limply, dismissing the need to apologize.

"Now," Hibiscus said, focusing again on her son. "Show me this nursery. We've got a lot to pick up today, if you want it done quickly, and I need to get the lay of the land."

Grub—so often the authority on the coming child—bowed to his mother's experience in this matter, taking her down the hall to look at the quarters.

Vinyáya watched them go, shaking her head. Well...at least it wasn't Lili helping him out.

* * *

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Vinyáya said a day later, looking into the second guest room.

Lili looked back at her, shrugging. "Roughly my thoughts, to be honest." She went back to scraping a wallpaper remover across the wall, gritting her teeth as she put her body weight behind the tool. "_I_ thought we were going to the movies, but Grub said he needs to get this finished by Saturday, so here I am. The kid isn't due for, what, four months or something? Spaz." The last was directed at her latest conquest, who was sponging the walls to help the removal.

Grub kept his head low, looking uncommonly small. This illusion was partially due to his soaked state, which made his ratty t-shirt stick to his body, also turning his hair into something of a monstrosity. "You didn't have to, Lili. I didn't even _ask_ you to."

"No," she agreed waving the flat tool in the air. "But I would only see you in the Plaza until this is done, and I'd rather _not _go that long, thank you." She dove at a particularly tough section of the wall, almost stabbing it.

Vinyáya looked between the two workers, trying to think of something to diffuse the awkwardness of this situation. She finally settled on this: "Okay, I'm getting out of here, _now_. Call me when things aren't bizarre."

Grub saluted her with his sponge, sending a torrent of water down the side of his face. "Will do."

As she went off to get her wallet and riding pleathers, Vinyáya could hear Lili giggling to Grub. "Hmmm...the house to ourselves. What do you wanna do?"

Grub sighed. "You're incorrigible."

"Of course I am. It's how I get what I _want_."

Vinyáya moved faster at those words, glad to vacate the house before Lili said anything that would stick in her head and ruin her for all time.

* * *

Two days later, the wallpaper was gone and the sanding was done (Vinyáya had again needed to retreat for this, discovering that the smell of ancient wallpaper glue was another of her nausea triggers). The room's old furniture was gone, and a mysterious pile of new furniture waited under a thick sheet, with post-its ordering "Vinyaya, do NOT look!" all over the covers. She complied, less out of curiosity, and more out of fear of Grub's whining wrath.

Vinyáya returned home after an extended shift (well...actually a normal shift paired with a short Section 8 mission) to find Grub in the room, as per usual. He was sitting on the floor, arms crossed while his eyes darted between two paint streaks on the wall: pink and blue. Grub chewed his lip until the occasional blue spark filled the air under his nose, all the while muttering.

Vinyáya leaned against the doorframe, watching his distress. When he didn't notice her for a full minute, she spoke up. "I never understood why nurseries should be so...bichromatic. Pink for girls, blue for boys."

"It's just how this is done, Vinyáya," Grub replied, not looking away from the swatches. He squinted each eye in turn, blocking one color at a time as he considered.

"Yellow is gender-neutral. Just do it in yellow."

"If you saw a grown man running about wearing bright yellow, what would you think?"

She considered this. "Good point. Just white, then."

"White is so _boring_." Grub crossed his arms petulantly. "Vinyáya...can't we...."

"Can it," she commanded, knowing full well what he was about to ask.

Grub drooped and he continued to glance between his samples. Vinyáya left him to it, locking herself in the office to complete her Section 8 report on a secure connection.

An hour and a few questions from Cahartez (the only council member who deigned to look at the report this late in the work day) later, she shut off the secure line. Already sick of the computer, she closed her laptop and left the room. Her stomach was—as always—rumbling, and she made her way down the hall again.

She was stopped in her tracks by a whimper from the nursery.

"Merciful Frond, save me," she whispered, but did make moves to save herself. Instead, Vinyáya went to the doorway, toeing it open to look in on her house mate.

Grub was now sitting with his knees tucked up to his chest, held in place by his arms wrapped about them. He had added another dozen alternating paint lines to the wall, and now he shot his eyes up and down the stripes. His pupils were dilated and he rocked back and forth.

Vinyáya tilted her head, inspecting the messy pink and blue lines. "Pink_ and_ blue? Are we having twins again?"

"No!" Grub cried, turning to her. A tear fell from each cheek, and his voice cracked as he dropped his bombshell. "Th-the baby is a hermaphrodite. But I'll still love it! Hir...Shi...." He tucked his head between his knees, moaning.

Vinyáya stared at him, mouth open. She licked her lips, trying to lubricate the path of her words, but there was no logical way to respond. A _hermaphrodite?_ Grunting in disgust, she left her co-parent to his ramblings.

Grub continued to rock, containing most of his sobs. He could take this. Really. It happened all the time, right? No problem. Okay, so the birth announcements would look weird: "It's a BOTH!"

Vinyáya reappeared shortly, throwing something towards Grub. It landed on the floor, sliding the rest of the way to tap gently against his bare feet.

The captain stopped convulsing long enough to look at this unexpected object. Vinyáya's blue and silver military-strength cell phone. The screen glowed, showing a timer counting up, as well as a green phone off its hook.

"Doctor Ginko," she said to his unasked question. "You have my permission, but this room better be sealed tighter than the Depths, because I don't want to _know_, okay? Don't even_ mouth_ the gender around me. I can read lips."

Grub didn't respond to her. Instead, he picked up the phone with trembling fingers, fighting to keep it secure against his ear. "H-hello, Doctor."

Vinyáya shoved a finger in each ear.

She caught the word "hermaphrodite" on Grub's lips and rolled her eyes before closing them.

The laugh from Ginko's end was so loud she could hear it even through her blocking fingers, but his next words were sufficiently quiet. She imagined the conversation would be short, and waited for the phone to be handed back.

Thirty seconds later, Grub slammed into her, wrapping his arms around Vinyáya's torso. Her fingers were dislodged by his pounce and her instinctive reaction to defend herself. She managed to keep that in check, much to Grub's benefit. The wing commander looked down at her male companion.

He was still on his knees, making him quite a bit shorter than his former lover, and also somewhat hard to see beyond her rounding stomach. The captain kept his eyes closed, but his tears were soaking into Vinyáya's shirt, turning the pale blue to a deep navy. "Thank you. Thank you. _Thank you_." He repeated this a few dozen times, hiccoughing through his crying.

Vinyáya looked up and down the hall, for the first time wishing that Hibiscus or Lili were in her inner sanctum. Even if it would mean facing them, it would also mean getting a little assistance. When she realized she would not be rescued, Vinyáya laid a gentle hand on Grub's head, patting him a few times. _Wow. His hair is so soft...wait, has he been using my shampoo?_ "Er...you're welcome. Mind not making me soggy?"

Nodding, Grub let go, sitting back to rest on his lower legs, wiping at his cheeks with the balls of his hands. He sniffled, but he was smiling, the force of his elation lighting up the entire house. "T-thank you. I...wanted to know..._so _much."

"And I _don't_," Vinyáya reiterated pushing his shoulders until the father was back in the nursery. "Now, like I said, the Depths. Keep that door closed, and warn me if you're going to open it, so I can go hide." She paused, and smirked. "It might be a good idea to open a window as you paint. Though it _would_ be funny as hell to see you high on paint fumes."

"Paint fumes just make me fall asleep," Grub laughed.

Vinyáya raised her eyebrows. "Do tell."

He smirked. "Not since my college days, and _that_," he shook his finger at Vinyáya, copying her stern look, making the woman return his laugh, "is my business. Now...if you don't mind...." He bowed his head at the wing commander, scooting back so he could close the door.

Still grinning, Vinyáya went back to her relaxing evening (including the second volume in her new favorite book series) as scheduled. "_Utter_ spaz...."

* * *

Grub got a _little _mixed-up with paint fumes, but unintentionally, and he didn't pass out. He came out of the nursery far past his bedtime, wrapped in a spare towel to make sure Vinyáya did not catch any paint splotched on him before he showered off. He was also giggling a little, but that would soon dissipate, as he had the lovely experience of a paint fume hangover to face. His efforts to keep the nursery a secret were quite effective, and Vinyáya was actually impressed. She hadn't thought he was this good at self-control. She'd expected he would begin blabbing about "when she comes" or "what should we name him" the second he hung up the phone, but the child was firmly "it" and the nursery door was closed at all times.

Saturday evening, Grub staggered out of the former guest room, two bags of painter's tape and plastic covering for the floor in each hand (colors again hidden). He looked at Vinyáya and sighed, entire body heaving with the effort. "_Done._"

She looked up from her book and pursed her lips, nodding a few times. "One-week redecoration. Impressive."

"Unh...." was Grub's response, though he smiled as he staggered off to sort everything for recycling. He went straight from there to the outdoor shower, and then to bed, collapsing still-damp under the covers.

Vinyáya kept reading. Or she tried to. She was near the end of the book (though still at lest another half hour from finishing), taking in—with more than a little sorrow—the final moments between the protagonists. Their words of love, furtive hiding, and a final, frantic coupling before they were separated forever. Then these words from the soldier: "Name him Brian, after my father."

Vinyáya paused. _Manfred...that is such a horrible name. If it's a boy—_

She shook her head. If it was a _boy._ That Kelp had apparently managed to infect her with something other than pregnancy. She went back to reading, time in the novel flashing forward, and she (feeling quite stupid) made the necessary connection: _She named the child "Brianna." Nice. Huh...I wonder how you'd turn "Manfred" into a girl's name._

Vinyáya slammed the book closed, then snarled as she realized she had just lost her place. For a moment, she considered finding the correct page and continuing, but suddenly felt like all of her strength was being drained away. Closing the book, she placed it on the floor, laying both hands on her stomach. She was tired, and the fetus appeared to be so, as well, going ahead of her into the land of slumber. The officer had little experience with children, and had been shocked to find that the baby slept, and even more so to notice that it didn't necessarily sleep along with her. So, when he was asleep at the same time as the wing commander, Vinyáya was thankful The little blighter could keep her up well into the night, if their schedules were off.

The little blighter...Mr. Little Blighter or Miss Little Blighter? Vinyáya scrunched up her nose, annoyed at her inability to keep her mind in check. It didn't matter. She didn't care. This was unplanned, and she didn't want to invest any more time and effort into this pregnancy than was strictly necessary. He would come when he would. Or she would come. Or....

"D'arvit," Vinyáya snapped, sitting up. This was ridiculous. It was going to come, no matter what. Did the gender even matter? No. It would be a baby, regardless of the arrangement of its lower regions. A baby she would rather not deal with. He was going to be enough trouble, as is. Or she....

"D'arvit!" she repeated, louder this time, and stood. She almost stormed across the house, then remembered Grub. He wasn't as high-strung in sleep as she, but a rampaging pregnant woman could wake the dead. Going back to her stealth walk—so often useful with Section 8 work, and now put to use in deceiving her house mate—she flitted to the hall, stopping in front of the nursery door. Her ears twitched as she listened for Grub's breathing, but it was low and even. He was not what you would call a "good actor," so Vinyáya was assured that this was true sleep. Closing her eyes, she reached towards the doorknob, easing the portal open. After slipping into the room, she placed her hand on the door to dampen the click of the lock as she shut the door behind her.

She stood in the darkness, eyes closed for several minutes, trying to talk herself out of this. It was..._obsessive_, really. Wanting to know what the _gender_ was. Still, her hand reached out—almost of it's own accord—and flipped on the lightswitch, turning the back of her eyelids red. She waited again, wondering if Kelp had installed some sort of alarm on this room (she wouldn't put it past him), but he continued to breath regularly.

"It's just curiosity. No reason to _not_ know, so long as you don't obsess. Open your eyes, look around for a bit, and go back to your book. Simple." She took a deep breath. "Okay...three...two...one..._now_."

Vinyáya opened her eyes.

She fell back, thumping against the door, her hands flying to cover her mouth and hold in a cry of alarm.

Grub snorted in his sleep, muttered something about being free and not processing someone's paperwork any longer, then turned over and went back to dreams.

Before she realized what she was doing, wetness rolled between Vinyáya's index fingers and her cheeks, pooling in the crook of her thumb before falling to the floor. Blinking rapidly, she fought back further tears. She shook, breath ragged.

All the furniture was the same material, but that didn't surprise her. Of course Kelp would make it match, and the golden wood shone in the lights, suffusing the room in a soft glow. A crib—obviously old, and probably real wood instead of the fairy-made faux-wood that most of the rest of the furniture was made of—rested in the very center of the room, already made up in white sheets with—of all things—_octopuses_ as decorations. The sheets really didn't match the mobile above the crib, which was done in silver stars and white LEP shuttles, many of which she had actually flown on surface missions (though some were quite outdated, and certainly beneath Section 8's notice). To the right of the crib was a changing station (definitely Vinyáya's least-favorite section of the room, though necessary), and to the left was a wide dresser, a trio of baby monitors (transmitter and two receivers) set on the top. Vinyáya was sure she would find it full of clothing if she opened a drawer, but that was too much for her. Too much energy. She felt weak. She needed to sit down.

And there was something for that. Head swimming, Vinyáya passed the crib to come to the window. Tentatively, she sat in the rocking chair, running one hand behind her along a quilt that had been folded over the back, melting into the soft blanket. It was a riot of colors, and Vinyáya suddenly wondered if this was new or a hand-me-down. She picked up a corner and brought it to her nose, breathing deeply. A moment later, she let it fall, turning crimson. The late Mr. Kelp must have vacuum-sealed it; one hundred years from its last use, but the scent lingered, and she recognized that scent, even if it had developed a musk and lost the baby softness. This had once belonged to Grub.

The weakness spreading to her entire body, Vinyáya let her hands fall to the arm rests, trailing her fingers on the sides, following the spiral path at the rounded end. She recalled Hibiscus's cut-off words. "Great-grandmother's..." rocking chair. Even in the cold of the Haven evening, this wood felt warm. As if it were still alive.

The room was sparse, at the moment. No pictures on the wall, and only the bare furniture she saw now. She knew more would be coming. Toys and a miniature washing machine for diapers and she didn't even know what else. Probably a baby defibrillator, Vinyáya thought, but the idea didn't seem funny to her, anymore. She felt a cold rush down her back, but pushed it away.

No pictures. No stuffed animals. No bottles or diapers or playpens. Just a crib, changing station, wardrobe, and a chair. And the walls.

Vinyáya looked around and lay a hand on her stomach, rolling her eyes when a kick greeted it. _Great. It's up._

And then: _He's up._

"Blue," she whispered, closing her eyes. Despite her best efforts, Vinyáya drifted off to sleep, nuzzling into the quilt. "Blue...."

* * *

**Preview: "****There might have been a time/ and I would give myself away./ ****O****nce upon a time I didn't give a damn,/ but now, here we are, so whataya want from me?"**

* * *

**So...we come to the end of my backlog. The next 2 chapters are half-written, but that's still half-unwritten. So, in a week, look out for chapter 3 of **_**Fragments of the Past**_**, wherein I should be able to tell you what the next thing I post is. I'm trying to do a post every week, I'm just never sure what it is.**

**On the plus, I may be pursuing unemployment quite soon. Negotiations are in the works.**


	29. A Time I Would Give Myself Away

**Apologies. The _next_ post will be the contest prompt. I'm working out a collaboration with Artemis Fowl FC, to do both a fanfiction and fanart contest.**

**Also, it's finals' week. I'm a bit too swamped to type up anything, and this is what's ready. I should really be sleeping and not working on this. Bleh.**

**And you can all thank Lli for spurring me to post now, and not Wednesday. She just caught up, and reviewed every chapter on the way. Love her so.**

**Yay! This chapter marks the half-way point in the story! Officially putting it on track to blow everyone else's word count out of the water, and break 200,000.**

* * *

**Song: "What Do You Want From Me" by Adam Lambert**

* * *

**Special behind-the-scenes footage! (sorry, xybolic, not the one you think it is)**

"Filming has been slow, lately," Trouble commented as he snatched a cookie from a precariously stacked plate on the dining room table of Ms. Heart's apartment. The domicile was suspiciously empty, but for the Commander, his little brother, and Fowl (who was steadfastly ignoring them as he stood by one of the counters, concentrating on preparing a sandwich without causing somehow setting off the testy fire alarm). "She ever going to get back to work?"

"Yeah, she told me she'd be on it soon" Grub said, flipping through a document on his data tablet. "She needs my story done by July 20."

Trouble paused his chewing. "You mean _The Atlantis Complex_ release date? She already knew her stories would never fit into canon."

"Eh...more that she needs to finish it before the new book destroys her, emotionally."

"Emotionally?" Trouble blinked. "Why?"  
"Haven't you read the first chapter?" At Trouble's shake of the head, Grub sighed, exasperated. "It looks like Colfer killed off Vinyáya."

Trouble's jaw dropped, cookie crumbs tumbling out and onto Kit's less-than-clean floor. "You're shitting me!"

"I shit not," Grub replied solemnly. "Read it, you'll see. Oh, and her name? Raine. Raine!"

"Yeah?" Trouble tapped a finger on the top of Grub's tablet, angling it down to read a bit himself. "Anything else of interest? Like...me rushing in, saving the day, getting the girl, as I should?"

"Er...not precisely. Kit thinks you're dating Holly." Grub pointed out an odd line, which Trouble studied closely.

Artemis looked up at the claim, scowling, and took a large knife from its wooden holder, slicing into a block of cheese as if it had personally offended him. Given that it was bulk cheddar, it probably had.

"Ms. Heart is so confident, she promised a 25,000 word Artemis/Holly smutfic by the end of September if she's wrong. You're either dating, on your way to dating, or Holly has a crush on you."

Very slowly, Trouble developed a smirk. "Does that mean she'll make a 25,000 word Trouble/Holly smutfic if she's right?"

_FUD-D-D-D-DDDDDDD._

Trouble and Grub turned their heads to look at the large knife embedded in the wall behind them, which still buzzed from impact. Then, slowly, they turned the other way, blinking as they took in Artemis staring them down, fists clenched at his side.

Trouble swallowed, grinning in what he hoped was a charming and disarming (literally) way. "Um...impressive, Fowl. Butler taught you to throw knives?"

"No. I _missed._"

Backing away, eyes never leaving Artemis, Trouble did his best to seem dignified. "I think I should go comfort Kit. She'll...need a strong man to help her through the loss of Vinyáya. Yeah."

"She already _has_ a fiancé, Trouble." Grub reached up and yanked the knife from the wall, inspecting it with a dour expression. "And tell her to add a chef's knife to the registry. This set she has is deplorable."

"I'll...get right on that...Kit!" Trouble took the risk of spinning towards the door to the office, trusting that speed would help him escape a knife to the back.

* * *

**Chapter 29: A Time I Would Give Myself Away**

**Week 23**

Ah, pregnancy. A many-splendored, utterly confusing thing. Everyone is aware of the more common pregnancy symptoms: morning sickness, food cravings, mood swings, and the eventual emergence of a baby from a woman's nethers. Some more-knowledgeable people may also know of the less common, but still annoying symptoms: excessive salivation, flatulence, sped-up hair growth, forgetfulness, and a loss of physical coordination. However, there are some symptoms that even the most learned people do not expect to experience when undergoing gestation.

Vinyáya was not the most learned person, especially in regards to things fetus-related. Despite this, as she sat in her office, she was _pretty_ sure what she was feeling was cause for alarm.

Unlike Short, who had taken great pains to keep her office as spartan as possible to avoid being shoved inside for more than her 50-50 schedule of office and fieldwork, Vinyáya wasn't an adrenalin junkie, merely an enthusiast, and she had set up her own quarters at the LEP to be as comfortable as possible. The entrance was off-center on the south wall, and she had placed a pair of cushy blue-velvet chairs on the other side of the door, with a small coffee table between them for her more casual visits. Both of the adjoining walls were covered in something of a checkerboard pattern, with alternating squares of books on shelves and hanging framed photographs (mostly of her favored officers, though there were the occasional pictures of herself with dignitaries). The back wall was entirely taken up by a single-pane window, overlooking downtown Haven, and giving her enough outside light from the city skylights to work by during the day and nourish her ficus, which was placed to one side of the window, growing vigorously.

It was the ficus that was causing Vinyáya concern. More accurately, it was how Vinyáya felt about the ficus. Even more accurately, it was how Vinyáya felt about the ficus's _potting soil_. This had never happened to her before, and she recognized that something hormonal must be the source. Still, she couldn't take her eyes away, and, fight though she might, the preposterous idea kept coming back to her. Again and again, becoming less absurd with each repetition. _Surely...it wouldn't be _so_ bad if I just...a little...._

Vinyáya licked her lips.

"I've gotta get out of here," she said to no one in particular (except perhaps herself, to make sure the point got across). Standing so abruptly that her office chair spun out across the room, hitting the wall with a thump and shifting of pictures (including one of a red-haired female elf standing with an insane grin before a crashed shuttle), Vinyáya stormed from her office.

Her secretary, Cirrus, looked alarmed as his charge made her way across his sub-office. "Wing Commander? Is there anything the matter?" He stood, body tense, as if ready to forcibly keep her in the office.

She waved him off. "Just a bit hungry, Cirrus. I'll be back in about fifteen."

The idea that a pregnant woman may leave her office to obtain food was entirely plausible to Cirrus, and he subsided, though his eyes flashed to the clock to make sure he knew exactly when "fifteen" ended and the fretting could begin.

Soon, Vinyáya walked down the halls in triumph, a bag of snap peas the source of her glee. A rotation of the sweetish vegetables had just gone into season in Haven, and this treat had driven all thoughts of dirt from her hungry mind. Now all Vinyáya wanted was to be safely back in her office, able to go through her duties and munch without interruption.

Of course, this wouldn't be much of a novel if things always went Vinyáya's way. So, instead, she came across the exact last person that she should have met if she wanted to get back without an incident. No, not Grub Kelp. Not Lili Frond. Not even Holly Short with two neutrinos and breathless words about a demon uprising they needed to quell before word got out to Haven's citizens.

Even. Worse.

Caballine squealed with joy. "Wing Commander!" She hopped, bucking her back hooves, and trotted up the hall, her husband following at a discrete distance. "Foaly told me the good news, and I was just _desperate_ to see you! Oh, it's wonderful!" She tossed her chestnut-brown mane and tail, dancing so rapidly that only two of her hooves ever touched the ground at the same time, which sent her entire front bouncing in a rapid tempo that had already hypnotized Foaly.

Caballine was not daft. She had a thriving career in sculpture and still took on the occasional special report, when something caught her interest. She could only do these things if she had all her mental ducks in a row, and they were quacking along quite well. She was, however, the last sort of woman that Vinyáya should have been faced with: a future soccer mom.

As could be expected, Vinyáya did not say much of anything beyond "Good evening, Mrs. Foaly." Then Caballine was (as the humans say) off to the races.

"What are you, now 19, 20 weeks along? Longer? Twenty-three! Impossible! You're barely showing, and you're so thin to begin with! You should be popped out to _here_ by now. When is the due date? Oh, not that is matters. Babies just _never_ come on the day you expect them. They're always early or late. Flash was two weeks premature, but you wouldn't guess it by his pictures! Do you know the gender? I just _had_ to know with Flash, I was so worried about getting all pink clothes—I was hoping for a girl—and then having to parade a boy about like a little cross-dresser! A good thing I checked, right? I wouldn't do it a second time, though. I want to be surprised. Do you plan on having any more? Oh, don't look like that! The first one _always_ makes you think about the second! What about symptoms? Over the morning sickness? How about frequent urination? Food cravings?"

"Um...." Vinyáya, deciding that she would rather not discuss her bladder, went for the safer of two stomach-related questions, holding out the peas.

"Oh! I just _knew_ it. A good thing yours are so normal! Let me tell you, I threw a shoe mid-way through my pregnancy, and Foaly had to hide it from me until I could get re-shod, I wanted to just bite down on it _hard!_ I don't know what came over me, but I was _obsessed_. OH! But your belly is so _cute_ like that! Let me!" Caballine tossed her mane back and danced forward, laying her hands on Vinyáya's stomach. Leaning over, she cooed at the fetus through the various skin and muscles between them. "Who is a cutie? You are! You are!"

Foaly caught Vinyáya's eyes and paled. He placed a hand on his wife's shoulder, trying to pull her away. "Caballine, dearest, I believe the Wing Commander has matters to attend to. We should—"

"Oh, nonsense!" Caballine straightened, crossing her arms as she glared at her husband. Interrupting a gushing mother is not the brightest idea. "She needs _someone_ to talk to about this, and I don't see the rest of the LEP women showing any motherly intentions!"

"No, you're right," Vinyáya soothed, and Foaly was reasonably scared shitless (figuratively, thank the gods). She stepped towards Caballine, eyes going soft. "I mean, I'm just so _curious!_ Tell me, Mrs. Foaly," she put her hands on the centaur's stomach. "How far along are you? Thirty-five weeks? Thirty-seven? Gods, you look ready to explode!"

With a shrill whinny, Caballine reared back, pacing away from Vinyáya's touch. "I'm not _pregnant!_ I had Flash thirteen years ago!"

Vinyáya's eyes went wide and she put her hand over her mouth, speaking around the thin fingers. "Oh, dear. Does the baby fat really hold on for _that_ long?"

Caballine goggled, choking out responses that were nonsensical even in her head. Her stomach had a small ball, it was true, but nowhere near that far into pregnancy, even by the somewhat longer centaur timeline. Finally, she managed "well, I _never!_" and spun on her hooves with all of the agility of a Lipazanner, tail flipping up to strike Vinyáya across the face as she trotted away.

Foaly groaned. "Caballine, wait!" He snorted at Vinyáya, who did not respond, and wheeled about, galloping to reach his wife's side. "Baby, love, my little pony...." He crooned all the way down the hall, to little visible effect.

Vinyáya threw her head high, shoulders going back. "Diplomacy" didn't necessarily mean "being nice," just getting people to do what you wanted. With a mighty crackle, she opened her bag of peas and popped a few into her mouth, chewing merrily as she returned to her office, only allowing Cirrus two minutes of intense fretting.

* * *

**Week 24**

Of course, just as you can not fool all of the people all of the time, you can not diplomatically tell everyone to stay the hell away from you every minute of the day. Eventually, it becomes necessary to speak with someone in close quarters.

Vinyáya preferred to keep such meetings as mobile as possible. Thus, many days after the fiasco with Caballine (which, Foaly informed the Wing Commander, earned him three nights on the couch and as many more without tender lovin', all of which he held her directly responsible for), Vinyáya paced along the halls of Police Plaza with Holly Short and their attendant secretaries, popping in on other subordinates as they discussed business.

"Koboi is making appeals _again_," Lili groused, and only partially because this was Opal's tenth appeal this year. She kept shooting jealous looks at Vinyáya's stomach. Despite the fact that she didn't want to be pregnant just yet, she firmly believed that the presence of that child in the Wing Commander's womb, instead of her own, was a travesty.

"Give her some more cardboard," Vinyáya suggested, not bothering to knock as she opened one door. "Tell her to make a pegasus, this time."

The pair of officers inside both looked up at the intrusion and odd orders, not the least bit shocked by their supervisor's sudden appearance, and neither showed any signs of guilt.

"Are the damage assessments from the Firebird back, yet?" Vinyáya asked smoothly, as if this was her true purpose for popping in.

"Not yet, Wing Commander," the pixie of the pair responded, "but the mechanics told me they should be done by the end of the shift."

"Excellent. Carry on." Shutting the door, the quartet set off again.

Now it was Cirrus's turn. "Lope has been seen with most of the conservative members of the Council. Whatever he's discussing, it's big."

Holly frowned. "Lope is swaying to conservative? Isn't he moderate?"

"No," Lili broke in, patting the clueless sub-major's back in an affectionate manner, "he's an ass. There _is_ a difference, though Councilman Yenma might lead you to believe otherwise."

Looking between Lili and Vinyáya, brows furrowed, Holly tried to think clearly. She'd expected this meeting to be pure torment, given the two women's relationship, but they seemed...tolerable. Not friendly, precisely, but at least allied on most things. "What's the latest development with Turnball's—Vinyaya?"

Vinyáya had stopped in the middle of the hall, hand flying to her stomach. Staggering to the side of the corridor, she slammed her fist into the wall, cracking all of her knuckles, plus her wrist. She gritted her teeth, and her eyes seemed to fade in and out for several seconds. Then she shook her head, taking a deep breath, and was back in control. "Calm down, Cirrus," she said to her secretary, who was mid-way to calling 909. "The little sadist just kicked me in the kidney."

Holly watched Vinyáya, blinking slowly. "It's...kicking? You didn't mention that it was kicking already."

"Yeah, it is," the silver-haired woman responded, rubbing the tips of her fingers over another internal roundhouse. "For a few weeks. _Gods_, it's got some aim. That one got my liver, I'm sure of it."

A sharp keen filled the hall.

Lili looked sidelong at Holly. Then she sighed, raising her eyes to the tops of Haven. "I don't care that I just had lunch with Athena; there are no gods."

Holly held her balled fists before her face, trying to contain herself as best she could, and not succeeding very well. She bit her lips, eyes never leaving Vinyáya's stomach. Her eyes had to jolt around a fraction, as Holly was now engaged in a rapid bouncing, unable to contain herself when so suddenly reminded of Vinyáya's fertilized state.

She did not seem to be the only one. All around the quartet (quintet, if you count the fetus), fairies were stopping, watching the Wing Commander. Those that had been passing by when she announced her unborn child's status as a kung-fu master were telling new arrivals about the news, and it was like there was some sort of polarization between Vinyáya's womb and their collective gaze.

Vinyáya felt her heart flip over several times, more unease in her at this moment than she had felt in the last hundred missions she had undertaken.

Holly took a small step forward, then stopped, self-preservation instincts fighting with her desires. "I...Vinyaya...could I please...can I...touch your stomach?"

Vinyáya glared at Holly, rising from the wall, mouth open for a full-force scream.

With shining eyes, the short sub-commander looked up at Vinyáya, hands still clasped together, as if in prayer.

Vinyáya faltered. "I...it's just...." Suddenly, she screamed in frustration, fists crashing to her sides, causing everyone in the hall to step back a few paces. "Fine! Do what you must!" Before Holly shot forward, she held up her hand. "But only for three minutes! We have work to do."

"EEEK!" Holly pounced. As did the rest of the hall. Crossing her arms petulantly, Vinyáya fell back against the wall, allowing her stomach to be groped by fairies she barely knew.

"The indignity...."

Lili Frond was the only officer who held back, and she joined in mutinous grumbling, shooting glances as the veritable orgy of touching.

Vinyáya looked at her moonometer, urging it to go faster. The mechanical monster seemed to go at half speed, and she swore she saw the second hand go back once. Just as she was counting down the last ten seconds, Vinyáya heard the one voice she heard more often than any other, of late, and the one she least wanted to hear at that moment.

"What the hell?" Grub barked, looking down from a crossroads in the corridors to see his house mate being assaulted by a good two dozen officers.

Vinyáya opened her mouth to protest and give a quick explanation. Before she could do so, Grub shook his head, looking dazed, and mouthed something about tainted pastries as he continued down his hall.

Vinyáya squeaked in protest. "Wait, it's not...let me...oh, d'arvit, shove off!" She pushed away from the wall, elbowing aside the overly friendly fairies, forced to smack Holly in the forehead with her palm to get the major to collect herself and back off. "Dammit, I have work to do! Short!"

Despite their relatively equal positions, Holly sprang to attention, her old subordinate training kicking into gear at the authoritative bark. "Yes, sir?"

"Next week, we will go to Atlantis and deal with Koboi and Root, and they can choke on it if they don't like what we have to say. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" Holly responded, not entirely sure what the convicts were supposed to choke on.

"And the rest of you! Get back to work, or I will suggest to the Council that the LEP has plenty of time to grope poor, defenseless pregnant women, and maybe a staffing cut would help lessen the extra hours. Am I clear?"

She was clear enough, all of the officers shooting off to their proper duties.

"Excellent." Vinyáya tugged at her work jacket, doing up an extra button to help hide her shape, even though it strained the fabric about her middle. Throwing her head back so metallic hair cascaded over her shoulders, Vinyáya took a cleansing breath. "Well. That wasn't so bad."

"Oh, not at all," Lili trilled, going to Holly's side, making sure the major was between herself and the Wing Commander. "I quite enjoyed it."

"Frond," Vinyáya hissed, making sure only their quartet could hear, "I will make sure your life is a living hell when you get knocked up, I swear I will."

Lili smiled, scrunching up her nose cutely. "Wing Commander, I look forward to it."

* * *

Naps, Grub decided, were the best thing ever.

He'd had naps before. He was quite a purveyor of them, actually, and frequently used his lunch break to snooze somewhere in the Plaza or the surrounding gardens of downtown Haven.

He had, however, never taken a nap with a woman before. That was pretty awesome.

It was the weekend. He and Lili had started out by enjoying the Frond mansion gardens, listening to the buzz of insects and twittering of birds (some of the few wild animals in Haven, allowed to roam free, to help with pollination and pest control) while Lili attended to some of the plants and fish in the reflection pool. Lili preferred to take on these tasks, though the People had long ago passed budget measures that would allow the Frond family grounds adequate care on the government's gram. It was about all she was confident doing, as far as home care went, and Grub suspected there was also something in the activity that gave her an industrious outlet without quite prickling her in regards to domesticity. Sort of like how Short was known to keep ferns and (it was wise to never mention this one to her face, just in case she stopped bringing the fruits of her labors to the Plaza) bake.

He had briefly wondered what Vinyáya did in this regard, before reminding himself that she did pretty much everything to keep Haven running smoothly, and then pushed the thought of his host away.

When the fish were all fed (and one had been pressed to Grub's unsuspecting back, making him yelp, squirm, and run to wash the slime off), the pair had lain down together on a lawn chair tucked among a copse of trees and rose bushes. Lili had quickly made the lawn chair go down to the last rung, and Grub thought she was about to make a move on him, but she had just tucked into his side (really, she demanded the tucking, grabbing his arm and wrapping it about her waist when he hesitated), hid her face in Grub's neck, and promptly passed out.

The hadn't done anything particularly strenuous that day. It was a weekend, and Grub had only been at the mansion for a few hours, and only awake for three more than that. Still, it was warm, the birds were cheerful yet soft-voiced, and there was something about holding another person—even if they had not been on holding terms for long—that soothed Grub. Within minutes, he was also sleeping softly, fingers twitching reflexively along Lili's waist as he dreamt.

And that put him where he was now. Almost simultaneously, he and Lili had woken up and come to awareness that the other was awake, all without words or movement. Grub continued laying still on the lawn chair, dwelling on the invention of naps.

Lili did not remain still for long. Her lips were the first thing to move and, since she had not moved her head, this meant her lips grazed along Grub's neck, first in light kisses and brushing, and then onto something more open-mouthed, with a little nipping and the barest tip of her tongue doing something obviously coordinated, though, whatever it was, Grub was not able to identify it, at first.

It came at him quickly, and Grub smiled, leaning his head to the side to give Lili better access. She was writing Gnommish characters with her tongue. That was pretty interesting. He'd never thought of doing something like that. It was a short sentence, and Lili repeated it over and over. Grub tried to concentrate on the shapes, getting the letters one at a time. 'U.' A missed letter. 'K.' 'M.' Another missed letter. 'F.' A 'U' again, then a 'C.'

"D'arvit," Grub hissed, filling in the last blank. He tried to sit up, but Lili laughed, putting a hand to his chest.

"I'm impressed. You got that rather fast." She pushed herself into a sitting position at his side and looked down at Grub through lidded eyes. She let up the pressure on Grub's chest and her fingers moved in five small spirals, going lower and lower on Grub's body.

"Fast. Yeah. Really fast," Grub squeaked, eyes darting down to the woman's descending hand. "Um...we're outside."

"No one can see us," Lili smirked, gesturing at the arboreal coverage with her free hand. "I promise."

"We're _outside_, Lili," Grub insisted, managing to push himself up and away from Lili successfully this time.

Or he thought he had been successful. Grub obviously hadn't thought things through very well, as his retreat to the top of the chair had merely meant that the top half of his body moved further away from Lili's hand. Which meant the lower portion of his body was _much_ closer to said hand. Said hand felt friendly.

Grub yelped, then moaned, eyes fixed on Lili's still-moving fingers.

"No one can see us, Grub," Lili reassured, managing, through the haze that had taken over her brain, to find the correct zipper among the dozens on Captain Kelp's needlessly complicated cargo pants. "Trust me."

"I do!" Grub whimpered, but his hand had already shot out, grabbing Lili's wrist and pulling her hand away before things went irreversibly foreword. "I do. Really." He winced at the sudden pain in his gut, as well as instincts' relentless screaming. Really, why were the Kelps such relentless _breeders?_ "I just...we're _outside._"

"Well, then let's go _inside_," Lili suggested, using logic that she felt was quite laudable, given that she had only been able to think of one thing since she had woken up.

Grub tugged Lili's hand to his face, putting it against his forehead as he took in a deep breath. After letting it go, he lowered the hand, kissing Lili's fingertips, and shook his head. "Don't kill me."

Lili groaned. He didn't need to say anything more. "Oh, gods, what the _hell_, Grub!"

"We've been dating for a month, Lili," he said reasonably.

"Yeah! And during that time, I haven't had anything between my legs that didn't run on batteries!"

Grub flushed. "B-batteries?" Before Lili could give him further details and perhaps shatter his resolve, Grub kissed her fingers again and swung his legs off the side of the lawn chair, standing. Before Grub turned to face Lili, he placed his hands in his pockets, pushing them forward to move the loose material away from his hips. It would be 100% obvious what he was doing, and that rather ruined the point of the deception in most cases, but he didn't trust Lili to not pounce on such a visual cue as would be presented should he not take this measure.

Lili's eyes narrowed and she leaned over the chair, putting her hands, splay-fingered, on the edge. She crouched, quite cat-like, and bit her lower lip, keeping her eyes locked with Grub's.

Faced with a woman ready to strike, Grub tended to say whatever came to his mind first. He was somewhat pleased with what came, this time. "You never gave me the tour of your house!"

Lili faltered, her tense posture loosening a fraction. "Huh?"

Grub shrugged, backing away a step. "I'd like to see it, and the neighborhood. I've never been to Principality Hill before. Not properly." He turned to the side, one leg out in a wide arc, and waited for his would-be lover to either go along with him or attack again.

Lili slammed her forehead to the bendy plastic of the chair, where it bounced once. "I...d'arvit." With a mighty heave, she stood, arms crossing, and took quick steps past Grub, ignoring his proffered arm.

Sighing at the shun, Grub followed, relieved when he was able to take his hands from his pockets and walk without difficulty.

They went through the glass and copper-framed garden doors, immediently entering the mansion's main corridor. Lili went ahead of Grub, pausing at the first door they came across.

"The first room is my bedroom," Lili said, nonchalant. Or as nonchalant as one can be when holding your arms behind your back and keeping in a very big breath.

Grub whistled as he walked by, keeping his eyes off the offered anatomy.

Bringing her foot back, Lili kicked the wall, looking down at her chest as if her breasts had just committed treason. Either these things weren't on, or something was _seriously_ wrong with that boy.

* * *

**Preview: "You orbit 'round tempted by a face,/ Beauty so alive she leaves you spell bound./ Even the stars seem to burn for her."**

* * *

**I am deeply sorry for Caballine's portrayal. Really, I like her, but she's the only mother available for gushing. Also, cross-dressing is totally cool, don't get me wrong. Especially for babies. I mean, the English made their male children look like girls for _centuries_, and look how well-adjusted they are!**

**I apologize for shamelessly stealing a line from _Firefly_. It was too good to resist.**


	30. Burn For Her

**Well, everyone, it is June 11th, and...I am getting married _tomorrow_. Weird.**

**So, my goal was to do massive postings. As you can see, not so much. Why? My computer _died_. Now, luckily, I have DropBox installed, so all my writing is safe (if you don't have DropBox, ask me for an invite, I can get you a version with a little extra storage). Just not my ability to work on a computer. I've been bogarting my fiancé's computer just to edit this. Hopefully it's worth the wait.**

**So, I feel bad for not posting massively, yet also asking for a little wedding gift from you all. Namely, reviews. Could everyone please review? I know some of you do regularly, but there's plenty of you who don't. I love responding to everyone, so this would really be the best gift you could give. Feel free to even go back and read my older stuff again and review all those. Plz?**

**Also, it would take a _lot_ more effort, but I'd go _wild_ for fanart. Or entries to my fanfiction contest (for details, see the story "Things Best Left Unsaid").**

**So, that said, it's off to final wedding prep for me, and off to reading and _reviewing_ for you!**

* * *

**Song: "Melancholy Astronautic Man" by Allie Moss**

* * *

**Chapter 31: Burn For Her**

**Week 25**

It took less than a day for every fairy in the world to hear about the Wing Commander's scandalous gestation, but the reaction of some parties took longer to arrive than others. One sprite in particular had to wait nearly two months for leave from his post on the surface before returning to the Plaza for the full scoop.

Chix Verbil arrived in the LEP break room, seemingly out of nowhere, and slammed into his fellow sprite, Major Vein. He grabbed the superior officer's collar so tightly that the older fairy was forced to let out a blustery, choked breath. "Gods, tell me it isn't _true!_" His eyes were shining, either with madness (likely, considering whom he had attacked) or barely-contained tears.

Vein—best fighter in the LEP—wasted no time in breaking Verbil's hold (and nearly his wrists), hooking his foot on a leg of the next chair over, and sweeping it away from the table. With a jerk, he pulled it towards the lieutenant until the seat crashed into the backs of Verbil's knees, sending him crashing to his ass, where he remained, stunned, looking at the major, mouth slightly open.

Ash went back to gnawing on a particularly hard nutrition bar. "'Fraid so."

Chix slammed his head on the table, making the condiment and napkin dispenser in the center jangle. "This is a _disaster_!"

A large piece of the bar broke off in Vein's mouth, and he held it under his tongue for softening. "Eh, she ain't that bad, yet. And she's not your SO, anyway, so the Wing Commander wont bug ya too much."

Chix loked up, a dark line from the edge of the table crossing his forehead. "I don't mean _her_. I mean Frond! Gods I was _this_ close to sleeping with her, I swear!" To illustrate his near-copulation, Chix held up pinched fingers, closing one eye as he focused on them. "Close. _So_ _close._"

Vein grunted, sticking the bar into one side of his mouth, speaking around the granola and crinkling wrapper. "Just keep your place in line. She's bound to move onto the next fairy soon enough."

Opening his eye—making both go cross for a moment—the lieutenant snapped his attention to Vein. "I don't see _you_ waiting."

Vein guffawed, then choked as granola flakes became lodged in his throat. The bar flew from his mouth, skittering across the break room table, leaving a trail of drool and individual grains. "Hah! Gods, you naïve mother-fucker." Vein leaned back in his chair, lifting his steel-toed boots to the table. "When the time comes, she'll be begging _me._ You watch."

"I just don't get it," Chix moaned, holding a hand to his forehead, as if that would help him think. "The Wing Commander hasn't dated anyone since before I even joined the Academy, and Lili? She hasn't actually _dated_ anyone since...ever! What the hell does that runt have going on to catch them both?"

With her usual impeccable timing and minor cluelessness, Wing Commander Vinyáya sauntered into the break room, accompanied by the sharp smell of vinegar. The scent was explained by her current pregnant-lady snack of choice: a rather massive, dark-green pickle, which she was sucking on in a distracted fashion as she looked down at her digital tablet.

Vein and Verbil glanced at each other. Their lips twitched furtively as they tried to remain restrained. This proved an impossible feat, and they were soon wheezing as they breathed.

Vinyáya halted halfway across the floor, lips still wrapped about the kosher dill, and focused on them. Her brows were lowered, and she tilted her head to the side, mind flashing about as she looked for the source of their mirth. Then her mental image of the situation came to clarity. Growling, she bared her teeth, crushing down on the pickle with a crunch and snap that made both sprites go silent, slowly crossing their legs.

Grumbling darkly, Vinyáya went to the table furthest from the sprites and sat down in a corner chair to continue her reading. She hoped for a little peace during her short coffee break (thank goodness the smell-related nausea had abated). It was not forthcoming.

Chix was staring at her. Staring quite intently. Sort of the same look one would expect to see on the face of a man lost in a desert, who thought he _might_ be seeing the mirage of an oasis, but has not yet lost hope or gained certainty. This included the lip-licking.

Thick shivers rolling across her skin, the Wing Commander glared at him, putting her tablet down. Crossing her arms—Chix's eyes got noticeably bigger—she glared. "What is so _fascinating_, lieutenant."

Chix answered without thinking. "Tits," he breathed.

Vein began to laugh again, even if he darted his eyes towards the door, evaluating his escape routes. Even he was scared of the battle-hardened woman.

Vinyáya opened her mouth, and it remained open, devoid of sarcastic, threatening comments. Slowly, her head fell to inspect her chest.

It stuck out just as much as her occupied stomach. Normally, she kept her buttons undone to a mid-point between collarbone and the shadow of her cleavage, but the expansion of her mammaries had come on so fast that she could no longer go that high, and had secured her shirt that morning to a point she would have normally thought to be more Frond's style. Even this was a stretch for the material, and it appeared that yet another button had popped loose since her arrival at work, revealing a brassier that—despite having enough engineering behind it to rival that of a suspension bridge—was made of hot pink lace. With a squeak of horror, Vinyáya redid the button and pulled her work jacket about her chest, crossing one arm over her stomach to hold it in place. Finding her audience was still in raptures, she let her voice go ice-cold, bringing in some of the tone she used in more intense Council debates and torture sessions. "If you two do not stop staring, I wont bother with a sexual harassment claim. I will castrate you with whatever tools I can find in this room!"

With complete faith that the elf could accomplish her goals quite handily, Vein and Verbil turned away, focusing solely on each other. Even with such a threat, Chix remained giddy, holding cupped hands in front of his chest, mouthing "tits!" with an enormous smile. Vein nodded, giving two thumbs up.

Chix had decided to visit the Plaza before the night shift would take their first break, so it wasn't surprising when another pair of elves entered the room minutes later. However, which elves _was_interesting to the lieutenant. Artemis Fowl and Grub Kelp (the latter still focused on some of the documents pertaining to their conversation back in the Ops Booth) were among the least-likely pairs Chix had ever seen, and their friendliness surprised the top-sider. Their talk was mostly business, certainly, but lacked Fowl's disdain or Kelp's whining.

Chix turned to Ash, blinking. At the major's shrug, Chix began to whistle the "X-Files" theme. (He'd grown fond of that show, seeing as it gave him something to do during the hours of nothing that his job entailed.)

Fowl rolled his eyes, vaguely recalling Juliet's obsession with the show, but Grub only looked confused, less familiar with this bit of human pop culture. Dismissing it, he took a seat while Fowl looked for a suitable tea to his mood, and, looking up to see Vinyáya reading, Grub grinned.

She seemed to sense the renewed focus on herself, glancing up to see her house mate. Sighing, as if greatly put-upon by demands of civility, she addressed him with a simple "_What_, Kelp?"

Grub shrugged, then jerked his chin at the commander's snack. "Still? I thought you'd have moved on by now. All the other cravings haven't lasted more than three days."

Vinyáya studied the preserved vegetable, nodding. "Soon, hopefully. We're almost out, and I'd rather not get another jar. I barely eat them, normally."

Drumming his fingers on the table, Grub thought, then grinned. "You could always make them last by mixing with other foods. Salads, sandwiches." He paused as Fowl took a seat across from him, accepting the mug of tea offered by the rather young elf. "Ice cream."

Vinyáya was no doubt about to make a masterfully sarcastic response, but stopped, mouth open. She lowered her gaze, studying her snack. She had never heard such a wondrous idea...

A second later, logic prevailed, washing away her delight. She narrowed her cat-eyes at the captain, teeth bared. "Kelp. Do _not_ taunt the pregnant woman!" To punctuate her orders, she flicked the last bit of pickle at Grub, hitting him just above the shirt collar, adding in vinegar to whatever cologne he had donned that day. As he merely laughed, she stood, snapping the tablet to her side. "I. Am. _OUT_." She exited the break room with all of the grace that a pregnant woman can muster.

As Grub continued laughing, Fowl sipped his tea in a nonplussed manner. After his companion settled, Fowl put down the mug, settling a level, almost-emotionless gaze on his break partner, ready to go back to their discussion of updating sleeper-seekers. Grub failed to notice, most likely because Chix Verbil was already calling to him, waving an arm for attention from across the room.

"Hmmm?" Grub turned in his seat, mood souring upon sight of the the sprite. "Oh. Liuetenant Verbil." After a pause, he nodded, lips twitching as he remembered that he now outranked the older officer. It was a particularly effective balm to years of torment.

"How the _hell_ did you do it?" Chix blurted out, leaning forward in his seat to get a closer look at the now-legendary elf.

Not having quite caught on to his legend, Grub came to what was a logical conclusion for him. "I studied a lot. Lili helped a bunch, too."

"Not _that_," Chix barked a laugh, causing Grub much confusion. "Vinyáya _and_ Frond? What the hell kind of lies are you telling to nail them both?"

Fowl covered his face with a palm, head shaking as he wished to be elsewhere.

"Oh, he ain't lying," Vein drawled. "Those girls? They've just been scared off of _real_ men, but don't have the guts to turn lez and fuck each other, so they decided to go after little Maggot, here. Someone to roll over and _beg_ them for it."

"I didn't _beg_," Grub said through clenched teeth. His hands went to the side of the plastic chair, gripping it. He would either dig his fingers in, like he had done back in the doctor's office months ago, or fling the chair at the sprites and dive after to defend his honor. He had yet to decide.

"Oh, what?" Vein snorted, hands flapping in the air. "You're going to tell me the Wing Commander came down to your mother's house and asked if you could come out and _play_?"

"She never came to my house!" Grub spat out in a desperate gambit to derail Vein.

The major just flapped his hands again. "Fine, dragged you to her place and—"

"We didn't _go_ anywhere!"

Vein paused, the wheels in his head almost visibly turning. Chix was also processing as fast as he could, trying to solve the new mystery. They both found solutions, turning their heads to lock eyes, but it was..._impossible!_

Fowl took another sip of his Earl Grey, reflecting that he really should have gone with something soothing, like chamomile, to help him cope with this fiasco. Airily, he explained it all to the incredulous officers with characteristic flair. "It was what you might call an 'internal affair,' I believe."

Grub shot Fowl a glance that clearly conveyed murderous intent.

Artemis sipped his tea.

Chix and Ash gaped. "You two...at the _Plaza!_" Vein laughed, shaking his head. "No way. I don't believe it. There's nowhere you could get away with that. Believe me; I'd know."

"Oh...I don't know," Grub said, feeling a bit of devilry rise in him. Fowl was a very bad influence, as anyone who had been around Holly for the last decade well knew. "You could say I learned _all_ the 'ins and outs' of the Plaza from Vinyáya."

Artemis raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by the double-entendre.

The lieutenant bit the masterfully cast lure. "Really? Where?"

Grub tapped his chin, as if he had a long list of locals to pick from. "You know the chair in here that doesn't have a coaster? The wobbly one?"

The sprites both looked at each other, eyes wide. Simultaneously, they shifted their weight. Vein remained solid, but Verbil's chair tapped back and forth.

"Oh, gods!" Chix sprang from his seat, kicking it away. "You screwed on my chair!"

"What? No!" Grub laughed. Just as Chix pulled out a new chair, he spoke up again. "Way too unstable. She _blew_ me on the chair; we _screwed _on the table."

Artemis later informed Foaly that the sprites turned a stunning emerald hue that would have attracted quite a few high-class sprite ladies, if they didn't look so horrified. They took to their feet, throwing disgusted comments at Grub as they literally flew from the room.

After waiting ample time for his tormentors to retreat, Grub broke down, guffawing and clutching his stomach. "Oh, _gods_, did you see their faces? Priceless!" When Fowl did not respond, Grub found he wanted to see if a similar reaction could be obtained from the normally unflappable elf. "Well...I didn't say _which_ table..."

Artemis held the tea between cupped hands, elven bones delighting at the warmth. "You have never utilized the break room."

"Oh, yeah?" Grub challenged, slapping his palm to the table, as if staking a claim. "How would _you_ know?"

"Well, for one thing, all LEP common areas have been under video surveillance for the past 100 years, after Warrant Officer Healy's successful harassment suit against Major Garret and the LEP. Quite expensive, that."

"So? Vinyáya is good with computers, you know. She could have just erased the footage, or made Foaly do it."

"Perhaps," Artemis admitted, raising his cup for another drink, but pausing just before it tipped to his quirking lips. "But your lies extend. She never 'blew' you, here or _anywhere_ else."

Grub stared. "And how do you know that?" Perhaps there _were_ cameras in his office all that time...

Raising one eyebrow, Fowl took on his full smirk, waiting.

Sulking, Grub swirled his tea. "Does 'I'm Artemis Fowl' have to be your response to that question every time?"

"If it is always the right answer..."

* * *

Very few mothers are actually thrilled about the _state_ of pregnancy. There are upsides, like free reign to eat whatever you want, but the symptoms tend to even out the measure of pros and cons.

Then one must take into account the advice.

Vinyáya had encountered some of this from the father already, but she had quite successfully whipped the boy (figuratively, not literally, though the thought had crossed her mind on a few occasions) during their affair so that he backed down from most arguments. What goals he was determined to achieve were mostly done by _not_ asking permission and instead finding a way to enforce the change (such as with her diet), or appealing to his new ally, Dr. White.

No. The problem was the _rest _of Haven.

Vinyáya saw the first signs of coming interference three days after the big reveal, when Cirrus flagged a tabloid cover and article for her study. It was a particularly unflattering picture of the wing commander exiting a coffee shop, sipping a steaming tea. She had just come back from an early-morning Section 8 mission, so her normally silken hair was frazzled from engine heat, with a smudge of engine oil marring her forehead. After that tense trip to the surface, she had been ready to relax, and wasn't bothering to hold in her stomach, displaying her new bulge to the world.

The wing commander could just imagine the editor's slavering glee when he purchased that image. There were flashing arrows everywhere, each with an all-caps question.

Her small belly: "IS VINYÁYA STARVING HERSELF TO KEEP FROM GAINING WEIGHT DURING PREGNANCY?"

Her hair: "HAS THE WING COMMANDER STOPPED GROOMING DUE TO DEPRESSION?"

The tea: "CAFFEINE WHEN PREGNANT? IS COUNCILWOMAN VINYÁYA FIT TO BE A MOTHER?"

And the smudge: "IS THE FATHER ABUSING HER?"

Grub had screamed at a subscription agent for a half-hour straight because of that last one.

Her own doubts on fitness for motherhood aside, Vinyáya had been pissed. So pissed that, to avoid a slander suit, the tabloid was forced to issue a retraction in their next release. Sadly, the apology was at the very end of the issue, and in rather small print, leaving the entirety of the Lower Elements to chatter about the accusations and do their fair bit to protect the fetus.

No fairy would sell _anything_ caffeinated to Vinyáya, Cirrus, or Grub, leaving all three stimulant addicts at the mercy of Holly Short (Frond refusing to buy for anyone but Grub), who had no caffeine-sense whatsoever. While no one would give her tea at a cafe, every barrista insisted on serving up the largest, most chocolate-filled pastry in the store to serve as baby food. Very soon, Vinyáya had to refuse these treats, lest she become far too close in shape to a novelty beach ball. The denials, again, fueled the rumors of malnutrition.

As for the charges of abuse, Holly stepped in with her own style of alibi. She waited until a chance encounter on the streets of Haven provided her with the largest possible non-LEP audience, and then set her plan in motion.

Her plan involved screaming at Grub at the top of her vast lungs (no one was sure about what, but offices and cameras figured prominently). For ten minutes. During which time Grub turned a variety of colors, dropped his groceries, and got progressively smaller until he crawled into his bags and commiserated with the wilting lettuce. A few videos of the encounter circulated the nets, and no tabloid ever mentioned the possibility of Grub being aggressive ever again. The next day at work, Holly put forward her apology by promising to never pick Grub for a sparring partner again, and he was much cheered.

So that left...the missions. While Vinyáya's section 8 jaunts were top-secret, it was common knowledge that the duties of Wing Commander occasionally took her into dangerous zones. The commandership was the odd catch-all of the LEP, handling the most dangerous criminals (such as Koboi) and all military-level engagements (or the theory of them, at least, seeing as the People hadn't had a war in ten millennium). Vinyáya had been shot twenty times in her five-hundred-year career (a dozen just grazes, of course), crashed three ships (two were _totally _not her fault), been forced to self-destruct one, and had most of her bones broken at least once. And that was only from her duty in the Wings. Section 8 missions were rarer, but significantly more dangerous.

So it was no surprise when fairies began to lobby for her removal from active duty. Not surprising, but not welcome, either. It wasn't like she got injured _often_. The last shooting had been a graze during the Rebellion, and the one before was 200 years past. Short had a _much_ higher injury rate. Yet people would be nosy and insist that she was putting her child in the path of undue harm. Like she didn't know how to take are of herself!

When the move against her finally came, however, it was not from the direction she had anticipated. Milling about in her office one morning, Vinyáya received a message on her desk terminal, coming from one of her fellow council members.

D_Fletwind: _Vinyáya, I think you need to watch this._

It had been followed by a link, which Vinyáya failed to click, initially.

A_Vinyáya: _Duke, I'm busy. Give me the gist, will you?_

D_Fleetwind: _No. Just watch it. And don't scream at me._

Conference? And a request for no screaming from Duke? With rising dread, she clicked the link.

A window opened on the screen, buffering in a few seconds. The relatively slow load-time indicated that the feed was in high demand. It showed a familiar image: the front steps of Haven's City Hall, which housed the city's administrative workers, as well as the Council's office's and meeting rooms on the top floor. A podium was constantly set up for city services, including the LEP, to make important announcements.

And, if the figure ascending was any sort of sign, this was a _very_ important announcement.

It was amazing how Aconite Lope could manipulate his perceived age. In personal settings, he held himself loose, letting a shine enter his eyes, fluffing out his salt-and-saffron hair to drift about in a youthful manner that would make even 100-year-old fairies flock to him. Yet, now, with the weight of his office in place, he shot forward in age, his true 837 years transforming to well over a millennium, yet without any loss of perceived vitality. Only a gain of power and wisdom. He seemed the true leader of the People in these moments, and even Vinyáya could still be impressed by his full impact as Head of the Council.

He began to speak, and the wing commander soon felt her awe drift away, to be replaced by the strong desire to kick him in the groin until he cried like a little girl whose ice cream has just fallen off the cone.

"I wish to comment upon the concerns raised by the citizens of Haven, in regards to the physical well-being of Councilwoman Vinyáya. Many of you—and several members of the Council—have begun to question how long the Councilwoman intends to keep up her full duties, and, as there has been no indication that she intends to put in for temporary leave, it has become more than apparent to me that measures must be taken to assure the health of both mother and child in the coming months. I would like to thank the People for showing the correct concern for this situation, and assure them that this issue will be brought up at the next meeting of the Council. Questions?"

The crowd of reporters began barking like chained dogs. The question and answer section went hot and fast, with Lope never losing his composure, even when some brought his motives into question.

Vinyáya sat stunned, her mind struggling to keep up with what had just happened. She had expected to be put on forced leave from missions soon. In fact, she kept a letter on her office terminal stating that she would be going on leave, though she never turned it in, merely updating the date every morning, in the off chance that the first demand for her notice would come in that day. The public display of her symbolic castration wasn't expected, though.

A_Vinyáya: _Duke, do you think I can get away with murder?_

D_Fleetwind: _Lemme check...the wives say "not without our help." And I soundly refuse to let them get mixed up in this._

A_Vinyáya: _Tyrant. I assume I have your vote?_

D_Fleetwind: _Of course. Although I'm guessing you missed something in that speech._

A_Vinyáya: _What?_

D_Fleetwind: _"Her full duties."_ _He's not just talking about the LEP._

Vinyáya swiftly rewound the video and felt a stab through her gut as she realized Fleetwind was right. Lope had never mentioned the LEP.

A_Vinyáya: _He can't be talking about suspending me from the Council. Is that even legal?_

D_Fleetwind: _It is if there's a majority vote. You're the first woman to be pregnant while holding the position, so..._

A_Vinyáya: _That's it. I'm just going to go ahead and murder him. No worrying about hiding it._

D_Fleetwind:_ Great. And then the Fronds go back into power._

Massaging the bridge of her nose, Vinyáya cursed the current council makeup. Eleven seats had been established by the late King Gerrard Frond III, but the only time those eleven seats had been filled was during the Council's initial years. The wording of the fairy constitution allowed the Council to remain operational, so long as at least half of the Council was filled, and seven members were currently on the roster. A loss of even one member would be nearly catastrophic, and two would make the body's power null. Unless there was some sort of revolution to stop it, the Frond line (meaning Lili Frond, horror of horrors) would be put back into complete power over the People. The Fronds had never been _bad_ rulers, but Haven and Atlantis were far too complex for any one fairy to govern. _Especially_ if that one fairy was _Lili._

It could take decades to get a fairy approved on the Council. Vinyáya had been working on adding Qwan since the warlock had been changed back from stone, and it still had not happened. Even her allies were reluctant to support the demon, as adding any member to the Council meant that individual power was significantly reduced. And, since she couldn't get any new members added to the Council, Vinyáya hadn't been able to gather any more allies. In fact, she didn't expect to successfully usher another member in until she herself was about to resign, and suggested her replacement.

Her replacement...Vinyaya had already hand-picked that elf, and was grooming her with the most subtle of gestures, but with this complication...the woman wasn't even starting her family, yet! Being placed on the Council when such a possibility as an enforced leave due to pregnancy was a possibility...and if there were no females on the Council...

"Hey, Wing Commander? Yoooooohoo?"

Vinyáya snapped out of her reverie to see Holly Short standing before her desk, slapping her thigh, as if summoning a dog, and giving her a very irritated look.

"That submarine isn't going to wait forever, you know. It's commercial."

A few steps behind though she was, Vinyáya stood automatically, taking her black pleather jacket from a coat stand, swinging it about her shoulders. "Submarine, Major Short?"

"The Koboi and Root visit?" Holly said in a sarcastic tone that implied Vinyáya really should remember. "Foaly has a sub waiting for us."

Vinyáya paused at the door. "Short, did you see the press conference just a few minutes ago?"

"Oh, yeah. What a dick." Holly flashed her teeth and—for a moment—Vinyaya began to wonder if Fowl really was some sort of bloodsucker, and he had converted the fairy to be the first wife in his legion of the damned. "I didn't hear him say you _couldn't_ go on a mission, though. Not yet."

Laughing softly, Vinyáya said, "Too true. Perhaps you will be a bit more on top of things, when your time comes." Ignoring the younger woman's briefly puzzled expression, Vinyáya put her hand to the doorknob. "But it's not going to be that easy. Wait until Cirrus hears..."

"Oh, that's no problem," Holly chirruped as the door swung open, revealing the gnome guardian.

He lay across his desk, arms stretch out in front, head resting on one flabby bicep, massive gnome rear thrust into the air. Before him, brown liquid spread across the desk until it came to the edge. Here, it had once fallen freely onto the tile floor, but the deluge had since abated, now only coming in slow drips, making ripples flash across the middle of the room.

Looking at Vinyáya, Holly beamed. "I put a tranq in the coffee I brought!"

Vinyáya stared first at her drugged secretary, and then at Holly. "That is highly illegal, Major Short."

Holly clapped the wing commander on her shoulder. "You highly approve." She pranced to the door that led to the main hall, motioning for her superior officer to follow. "Come on. We want to be well out of here before the media descends, and that is going to mean I have to speed. I hope you had a light breakfast."

"Morning sickness," Vinyáya mourned, joining her.

"Oh, good! All puked out. Let's go, then."

As they put hands to the door, Vinyáya shot a sideways glance at her Section 8 assistant, holding up a single, thin finger. "I need to make one quick stop, before we leave the Plaza. Something...important."

Holly shuddered at the tone. Someone was about to become _very _unhappy.

* * *

"I shall preface this by saying that I am fully aware I am being irrational, as my hormones are completely _fucked_, at the moment." Vinyáya took a deep, centering breath.

Then she tightened her grip on the gi collar she held, pulling her captive close to her face and making him squeak in alarm, eyes bulging. "I blame _everything_ that has gone wrong with my life on. Your. _PENIS._"

Then she let Grub go, allowing him to stagger back several paces, savoring the horror on his face. Brushing her hands off against each other, the Wing Commander turned to Holly and smiled, a pronounced bounce in her steps. "Okay, ready to go!"

For a moment, Holly did not move after the older elf, preferring to watch the woman from the corner of her eyes until the dojo door swung with her passage. Then she looked at the Kelp brothers, shrugging an apology, and whipped about, giving them a two-fingered salute as she jogged from the training room.

Trouble watched the exit, doing some minute adjustments on his giin an effort to give his little brother some privacy while he collected himself. The young captain had yet to move since his retreat from the slavering woman, and his own gi looked quite disheveled from the rough handling.

"Mood swings, eh?"

"No," Grub whimpered. "She just hates me."

"Oh, come on! That can't be true. She's letting you keep living with her, after all." Trouble stepped forward, adjusting his brother's uniform. "All of the Plaza gossips about you. Half of Retrieval has bets down on you two hooking up behind Lili's back within the month."

"W-what!" Grub squeaked, paling with great rapidity. "T-that's crazy! Why? No! I'd _never_ do that to Lili!"

"And _that's _the right answer," Trouble said, patting his brother's shoulders, ending with a single shake. "Now I don't have to kill you." When Grub did not subside, he grabbed a fistful of the younger man's hair, jerking his head side to side. "Cool it, bro! The Plaza is just a bunch of gambling addicts, you know that. I mean, there's been a poll on when Fowl pops the question to Holly since the boy turned fifteen, remember?"

"Yeah. I lost two grams on last spring." He shook his head at Fowl's delays. No one had ever expected a _human_ to take this long. It had seemed such a sure bet, too...

"It's just...Lili and I don't need that, you know?"

"Then ignore it," Trouble advised, sinking into a forward stance and motioning for Grub to follow suit. "Come on. You promised me you wouldn't get out of practice, now that you've passed the test."

Grumbling about unwise promises, Grub took his position and, after the polite pre-fight shouting, began to advance. He chose his attacks randomly, first punching at Trouble's sternum, then kicking at his thighs, and so on. Each blow was dodged or blocked with ease, irritating the captain. Trouble was among the best fighters in the LEP. There was no way Grub could land a hit, except perhaps a pity-punch. So, with half of his mind on the spar, he continued the conversation.

"I can't just ignore it, Trouble. Have you seen what they're saying about us? Lili and me, I mean."

Trouble grunted in acknowledgement, though his eyebrows quirked at the qualification. Reaching one end of the large dojo, he did a final block and came back with a shot to Grub's nose, pulling his punch a mere fraction of a second away from a full hit, knuckles brushing the tip of his little brother's nose.

The paused, eyes locked, a dim battle fire stirred even in the depths of Grub's eyes. Tension crackled in the air round them. Grub tightened his fists, preparing to strike back in defense.

Trouble flicked Grub's nose. "Beep."

Grub jerked back, hands flying to his face. "Oh, come on!" Grub rubbed at his nose, glaring at the older brother.

Trouble managed to contain his mirth quite well, considering how much he enjoyed tormenting the younger man. "You make this way too easy. Come on, my turn."

Grumbling, Grub got back into stance, nodding when he was ready.

Trouble moved swiftly, but he kept track of his brother's speed, pulling back so he only brushed the elf's gi or tapped against his skin. All the while, he took his own turn at talking.

"Learn to ignore them or learn to go with it, Grub. I know Lili. The girl has just about as much literal baggage as she has figurative baggage, and that's not including everything the press likes to say about her reputation. Ki-yah!" He ended with a powerful bark, a flat palm millimeters away from chopping into Grub's Adam's apple.

"Huk, yah!" Grub responded, pushing the hand away with a side block and stepping in with a bladed hand at Trouble's lowest rib. Unlike his brother, his aim wasn't perfect, and he accidentally poked the commander. "D'arvit! Sorry!"

"Eh," Trouble grunted, barely feeling the graze. "No mentioning Lili's reputation, then?"

Grub balled his fists, aspect darkening. "They wouldn't gossip about her so much if she wasn't a Frond!"

"Like I said, bro: deal with it. You think Lili and I would still be friends if it bugged me every time some tabloid claimed I was boning her up the butt?"

Grub choked and stared at Trouble, aghast.

"Oh, shut up! We _never_ did, okay?" Trouble snorted at the very idea. When Grub continued to be horrified, mouth opening and closing like a cod out of water, Trouble rolled his eyes. "If you _must_know, the closest we ever got—and don't you _dare_ tell Vein about this, or I will kill you—is dancing and...cuddling back at the Academy." He winced, anticipating.

Grub continued staring. "...you..._cuddled?"_

With the heel of his palm, Trouble popped Grub between the eyes. "Get back in stance, you dork."

"You _cuddled?_"

Trouble sighed. "And, apparently, I shall never live it down. Do I need to hit you again?" When Grub responded by scrambling back into stance, Trouble set himself up to block.

"I just..." Grub said, then sighed, the exhale turning into a sharp yell as he sent a roundhouse kick at Trouble's stomach, to be again blocked. "I didn't expect this. Dating is great, really, but Lili...gods." His face turned red, though more from memories than from exertion. Despite the sensitive nature of his last intense encounter with his love interest, he needed to tell someone, and his elder brother was the most logical choice. "Trouble, last Saturday she cornered me in her backyard and ordered me to fuck her! YAH!" Grub finished with a punch at Trouble's chest, stepping too far forward and wobbling as he tried to regain his balance.

"_RAH!_" First blocking with a roar, Trouble brought his fist about like a wrecking ball, sinking it into the side of Grub's jaw with a sound that was a mix of sharp crack and dull thud. There was the briefest of split-seconds as Trouble looked into his brother's eyes, the knowledge that extreme pain was on the horizon not quite processed in them. Then, it seemed he first began to move away slowly, soft strands of orange hair rising about Grub's blank face. And then the world sped up, becoming far too fast for Trouble to handle.

Grub flew back, slamming to the floor. His head rang with the impact, and he forgot to put his arms out to soften the fall. His head bounced twice on the padded floor before he curled up into himself and clutched at his jaw. He couldn't even think of a proper swear word, deciding to just yell incoherently.

"Oh, d'arvit!" Trouble supplied helpfully, kneeling at Grub's side. "Shit, Grub! Did I break your jaw?"

"No," Grub moaned, poking the side of his face to confirm this. "Not for lack of trying..." He shot Trouble a reproachful look.

"You wobbled!" Trouble protested quickly. "Here, let me help with that." Trouble extended a hand sparking with magic, but Grub knocked it away.

"'I'm fine. I'm fine, really. Done," Grub said, taking his hand away as his skin flashed through purple, dark red, brown, yellow, and back to untouched cinnamon. "I think I should schedule Ritual surface leave soon, though."

"Saturday is the full moon. I'll make sure you get a shuttle up," Trouble put in, by way of an apology, accompanying it with a crooked grin. "Or N°1 could give you a boost."

By the look on Grub's face, his skin crawled at the very idea. "I'll...take the surface leave. I think I need the fresh air, anyway. Clear my head."

"...of what?"

Squinting, Grub looked at his brother, thrown off by the odd question. "Huh?"

Trouble winced at his stupidity. Still he forged on ahead with his first thought. "Clear your head of what?"

Grub opened his mouth to respond, then closed it quickly, teeth clicking. Flummoxed, he shrugged and changed the subject. "I think I'm done sparring, if you don't mind."

"Yeah," Trouble offered a hand, pulling his brother up, then waved at the exit, also jerking his head towards one of the far, mirrored walls. "You go ahead. I'm just gonna do some katas, get in a proper workout."

For a moment, Grub paused, wondering if he should stick around to practice, as well. Deciding that a cold-cocking gave him a freebie for the day, he clapped his brother on the shoulder and made for the showers, hoping hot water would banish the last of the stiffness from his jaw.

Now blessedly alone, Trouble took a few breaths in through his nose, tugging his clothes into crispness as he walked to a mirrored wall, bare footfalls echoing in the empty room. He couldn't think straight, and hoped that the repetition of forms would loosen the knots and snarls in his head.

He settled on something simple, taking up a cat stance with his back to the reflective wall. It was a basic retrieval routine, meant to simulate an optimal capture. Starting with this stance (meant to be a drop from a roof, or being cornered by an over-confidant perp), an officer could disarm the runner with a sweeping kick, stun him with a cupped-palm strike to the ear (massively painful to the tender-eared People), tangle their arms together, spin, slam the criminal's chest to the wall, pin them with one forearm at the shoulder-blades, and cuff them. The best officers could complete the moves in under three seconds, and Root used to brag about getting his time down to two during his prime.

Trouble began slowly, letting his muscle memory awaken, analyzing each frozen step. Then, on the next round, a little faster, with no real stops, keeping his muscles tensed and burning. Faster and faster with each repetition, until he was a blur, completing fifteen sets in under a minute. Finally, he focused all of his speed for a final run, blasting though the invisible enemy, screaming at the mirror as he finished.

Chest heaving, Trouble stared at himself. His forearm was carefully in place before his chest, his front leg bent forward, intended to pin the back of the perp's knee, and his rear leg was out behind him in a locked line for strength and stability. Trouble's free hand was clawed and tensed at his side, the shape ready to grab his cuffs or give another blow to the ear. It was a perfect run. A personal best, even.

Trouble squeezed his eyes shut. "Idiot." His jaw tensed as he took spasmodic breaths, trying to contain himself. His chest heaved over and over, making his entire body reel.

"_Idiot!_" Fist clenching, Trouble slammed it into the reflection of his face.

The glass warbled and clattered ominously, but did not so much as crack.

Trouble thumped his forehead against the cool surface, eyes squeezing shut, head shaking slowly. "You...idiot..."

* * *

**Preview:****Don't you disagree/ c****ause you know/ it's all about me./ Be at my beck and call/ I'm a know it all/ and it's all your fault**

* * *

**See you all in a few weeks! Hopefully, much will be written on honeymoon down-time. Now, off for the women's breakfast!**

**One day left...oh, shit...**


	31. Make You Realize

**I'd like to make four quick notes:**

**1) Anything Vinyáya says in other stories...like, say..._The Dead, the Broken, and the Living_...that's canon. And likely important. Just saying.**

**2) The title of this story: also a song title. Also just saying. Not that it's important or anything. Doo dee doo.**

**3) I intend to push the boundaries of the T-rating of this story. Just a warning. When and with whom? Hmmm...**

**4) Remember, July 20th is the deadline to submit your short stories for "The Big Reveal" contest! Winners have their story recorded as a podfic. Multiple awards given. See "Things Best Left Unsaid" chapter 1 for further details.**

* * *

**A peek behind-the-scenes! (Are these annoying? Should I stop? It feels so...unprofessional.)**

The woman that breezed in the front door, startling the cast out of their stupor and into half-wakefulness, had all the facial features most women would kill for: blue eyes, long lashes, bow-shaped lips, straight (and fairly bright) teeth, and a frame of soft, blond hair to bring it all together. Sadly, it was all placed in a face with a bit too much pudge for the large majority of the population, but that didn't stop Grub Kelp from taking to his feet and breathing "you're back..." as if a goddess had returned to Earth. She had gained him a fan base, after all. And gotten him laid.

"Yeah, sorry," Kit replied, tossing print-outs to everyone. "Honeymoon and all. Scripts!"

"What," Lili groused, looking at her duties for the day, "no souvenirs?"

Kit rolled her eyes. "_No_. But you'll be happy to know I had a plot explosion for your story. Outline should be ready by week's end."

"Oh, sweet!" Lili said, finally flipping through her script. "The one you talked about before was crap. What did...you..." She paled quickly as she read, looking up at her part-time controller. "You bitch."

"I know! Oh, Artemis," Kit grined wickedly as she handed a smaller piece of paper to Fowl, who nearly ripped it from her fingers as he petulantly took the scrap, having not received a script, and thus no work. "A scene for 'The Smut That Shall Never Be Written!'" She grinned at the working title given to her 25,000-word reward to her associates, should she be wrong on her predictions for the next book.

Artemis was about to make a sarcastic comment about perversions, but stopped, eyes flashing a half-dozen times over the few lines on the pages, needing to read as fast as he could for confirmation. Looking up, he pointed a threatening finger at Trouble. "You'd _better_ not be dating Holly!"

Trouble frowned, holding out his hand for the scrap. When it was handed over, unlike Fowl, he needed only one reading to decide the writer was serious. "Oh, merciful gods. I've gotta see this. If I'm dating Holly, I'll kick my _own_ ass!"

Lili held up her hand, and, when the prompt was not handed over, she snatched it from her friend. Again, only one reading was necessary before she turned shocked eyes to Kit. "You _bitch!_"

Holly, growing increasingly unnerved, slid over a few seats to look at the note over Lili's shoulder. She took two readings before her mouth dropped open. "Oh...my...gods." Her eyes flashed down to Lili.

Both elven females felt their eyes lock. A second later, they edged away from one another, looking to opposite sides of the room.

Kit smiled. "Great idea, huh?"

Artemis crossed his arms, breathing in steadily. "You..._bitch_." His eyes softened. "I think I love you."

Nose scrunching, Kit laughed. "I know."

* * *

**Song: "I Don't Have To Try" by Avril Lavigne (which, after "Bitch" by Meredith Brooks, is Vinyáya's theme song)**

* * *

**Chapter 31: Make You Realize**

**Week 26**

When Lili came into work on Monday, she was puzzled to find a single red rose, a pack of mini nuclear batteries, and a tiny card waiting for her on her desk. The card itself didn't enlighten her, at first. It merely said "I'm _really_ sorry. —Grub." Lili tried to think of what Grub could have done that would warrant an apology, but not one that needed to be conveyed amidst prostrations and pleas for mercy.

When she finally got it, Lili called up Grub's office and proceeded to have a tirade. She was laughing with every other word, however, so he wasn't too worried.

* * *

Knowing the battle that lay ahead of her, Vinyáya spent most of the next week doing research, looking into the ways that different fairy groups—and even humans—treated pregnant women, especially in the workforce. She had also taken off Friday afternoon, intending to spend the time in review of her notes before going off to the meeting.

Unfortunately, Vinyáya had decided that a five minute power-nap would help her studying immensely, and had proceeded to be unconscious for three hours, only rising when she heard the clatter of a key in the front door.

She groaned, instantly recognizing her mistake. She hadn't even risen to pee or eat, which was a phenomenal achievement, of late. She was getting those prickly below-the-belly sensations, however, so Vinyáya rolled out of bed, donned a silk robe to fight off the evening chill, and made her way down the hall.

Grub was in the kitchen, standing before the open refrigerator and giving her untouched lunch a worried look. As the soft pad of his host's bare feet on the faux-wood flooring became audible, he looked up, head quirked to the side in question. He had long ago learned to avoid verbalizing anything when the woman had just woken up. The words she managed in return were universally filthy, and not a good filthy, like back in his office.

Raising her hand in an "OK" gesture, Vinyáya took the living room exit to the backyard. Her house was shaped like a plus sign, with exits on either the kitchen or living room wing, but none from the actual bedrooms. She had thought it a stupid design idea when she picked up the mortgage from her late parents, and she thought it was a criminally negligent one, now that she had spent several dozen trips walking sedately down the hall while she panicked on the inside. She vowed to get a contractor in to fix that, once things died down. Certainly before the next chi—

Vinyáya shook her head as she exited to her pine-filled garden. Bad thoughts.

A few minutes later, one bodily need taken care of, Vinyáya returned to the house proper, ready to take care of the second: hunger.

Grub was pulling something pre-made from the freezer, inspecting it for frost damage. "Something light, or something filling? I know you have the meeting tonight, so what would work best?"

"Liiiiiiiight," Vinyáya groaned, putting her hands behind her back and grasping her forearms, inching her fingers up until her muscles strained at the stretch, then turned side to side so her spine popped a few times. Her back seemed in a constant state of tension, lately, and it took very little to make a few dozen cracks ring out after a nap. "Maybe something to bring with. There's bound to be at least one recess."

"Can-do," Grub said, popping one dish into the oven and rooting about for fruits to cut up.

Smiling at the back of her personal chef, Vinyáya rose to her tip-toes, arms held high over her head, fingers lacing together. She seemed to expand into eternity, muscles burning as they reached their limit, seeming to gain a looseness even as they tightened from the flex. She began to lean backwards, using the couch as a support, more minute cracks going off.

Then, it happened.

It was like another one of the many pops along her spine, but this one was at her stomach. Almost impossible to feel, and only recognized because the elf was always so attuned to her body that alarms would begin to flash the second anything went wrong. She stopped stretching, falling to the flats of her feet with a loud "umph!" "Oh shit," she whispered, hands flying to cradle her stomach.

Grub stopped dithering with a peach, turning to look at his ex-lover. "Vinyáya?"

"D'arvit," she gasped, hands scrabbling over her belly. "Oh, gods. This isn't happening. This isn't _happening._"

"What? What isn't happening?" Grub yelped, dashing forward. He was forced to backpedal and add a few inches of distance to meet the measure of proper personal space as Vinyáya whipped open her robe, lifted her blue pajama top, and stared down.

"The little fucker just kicked out my navel!"

Grub glanced at the floor, half-expecting to see a brown button of flesh, sad and alone. Then he looked back up and had to bite his lip.

Rather than a shallow cup, Vinyáya now sported a small, twisted protuberance. It was a bit lighter in color than the rest of her skin, making it a beacon to the eyes.

Vinyáya poked at it, trying to put her body back into proper order. To no avail. It seemed like such a small amount of room to take up, but her child had apparently decided that it wasn't going to put up with the wing commander's belly button sharing its personal space. Despite the fact that her first trials proved that the thing wasn't going back inside, Vinyáya kept poking, biting her lip.

About a half-dozen prods in, Grub began to giggle uncontrollably. The dismay, the indignity—especially compared to the greater indignity of peeing more often than an alpha dog in the woods—was heart-wrenching. Or it would have been, if Grub was not completely aware of how swiftly the woman's mood would swing back from worried to wrathful.

He barely controlled his violent shaking in time to remove the squash bake from the oven, and even then he didn't stop giggling. He hadn't calmed down entirely until long after the councilwoman snatched up her meals and left, at which point he wiped tears from his eyes with a fond sigh.

Inspiration hitting him, Grub took his phone out and speed-dialed. When the other line answered, he spoke in a deep, whispered, conspiratorial voice. Like the kind one expects from a Soviet spy in Cold War flicks. "The Queen has left the castle, and the Princess can hold court."

Lili listened to this, then asked Grub what the hell he was talking about.

Grub wilted and spoke normally—with perhaps a bit of his characteristic whine. "Vinyáya left for her meeting. I have the house to myself, for a few hours. I thought you'd like to come over. Have dinner with me. Watch a movie, maybe."

"Oh." A long pause on the line, filled with a little static. "You're alone?"

"Well, yes," Grub said, taking two plates down and beginning to spoon squash in liberal portions.

"...am I gonna get laid!"

Grub sighed, laying down the ladle with a light "tink." "No, Lili. I don't think you are."

Grub had never let a woman down so badly. Which, considering the last six months, was really saying something.

* * *

One would think that having the Council at nearly half-staff would make decisions easier; fewer people to debate, fewer compromises, and all.

One would be wrong.

There were seven current members of the Council. Aconite Lope was Council Head, but that position granted little official authority, merely making him the Council's mouthpiece and vote-counter. Still it _sounded_ good, and Lope had made more than one "Head" joke to a tittering female when he was new to the spot. Actually, he still made those jokes, come to think of it...

Second to him in authority and seniority was the leader of the progressives, Arnica Vinyáya. While Lope had been included in the Council when he became so well-loved among the People that it became somewhat dangerous to exclude him, Vinyáya was inaugurated because she "Knew Too Much." As head of Section 8, she was privy to some of the most shocking secrets of the People. Secrets even Artemis Fowl hadn't uncovered, for the most part. So, to keep her in line and make decision-making easier, the woman had been inducted when she was still only in her first century as an officer. It had caused quite a stir in the LEP. One elf had even been driven to smoke, it was said.

The Council featured one resident from Atlantis, though he attended most meetings via a secure video broadcast. This time, however, the drama was too good to miss, so Perry Scale, an Atlantean Sprite, had come in via submersible and the chutes, gills flapping wetly in the climate-controlled air whenever he got excited. Like most male sprites, he thought himself the hottest thing since magma chutes, and had been highly put out when his object of intense interest—namely, the wing commander—didn't long ago melt at his mere presence. Noting her swelling belly, he was now satisfied to have lost out.

Speaking of goblin fireballs, the scaly ones had their own representative on the Council. Diego Nyle was actually a grandfather to one of the B'wa Kell Rebellion's lieutenants, though he had long ago disowned the incarcerated soldier. For a goblin, he was quite intelligent, though that isn't saying much. And, like most goblins, he was just about as sexist as they come. A lost cause, vote-wise.

Then, of course, there was another tense enemy on the Council: Lucas Cahartez, the richest dwarf in all of Haven and leader of the conservatives. The dwarf had a particularly tense relationship with Vinyáya, turning to her at every opportunity for a few words on the Amber Moon case, and rarely getting those words. It was becoming quite pathetic, really. Eleven years, and not much change in the case, despite his constant appeals. Despite the fact that Vinyáya's hands really were tied, he still seemed to think that she was personally responsible for all his woes.

Aral Nicolai was the pixie Vinyáya had shared a table with at the promotion ceremonies and the Vinyáya-Brenner showdown had left him a bit nervous. Despite this, he was still a staunch supporter of the wing commander, and the third-most liberal council member.

And, finally, there was Vinyáya's staunchest supporter: Duke Fleetwind. There was something of a friendly rivalry going on between the two; Duke's full title was actually Councilman _Chief_ Duke Fleetwind, head of the Lower Elements Fire Department, and they often bickered over who had a higher rank. Where Foaly was the exact opposite of what one expected when thinking of a centaur, Duke was not only the complete embodiment, but he also added in a few nice perks to the general image. A broad, dangerously muscled, tanned chest led into a glossy black Clydesdale body with a spotless white tail. His face was made of sharp lines only softened around his mouth, which sported a handlebar mustache and goatee that one would more expect to belong to a super-villain. It was roughly estimated that _every_ woman that had ever been saved by the fire chief kicking down the door to a burning building instantly fell in love with the stallion.

A real pity, as Duke was _fabulously_ gay.

Despite his orientation, Duke had two wives in his herd, both old friends from college: a pixie and a centaur. The couple had approached him to be the father of their children. All done artificially, of course, and the designation of "wife" wasn't even in a legal sense. The trio (now a quintet, as the centaur had carried twins) all lived together, and had found that their particular arrangement was just easier to explain with terms of matrimony. Duke was on the constant lookout for male members to add to his herd, but none had become permanent, as yet.

Despite Duke's declarations that "us girls have _got_ to stick together," Vinyáya was the only female on the Council. She was sure of Duke and Nicolai's vote, and sure to _not_ get Lope or Nyle. That left Scale and Cahartez as the real swing votes. Gaining at least one of them put Vinyáya in the clear, but the entire meeting was going to pit her and Lope against one another in a battle of charm, connections, and multiple veiled threats

It was Vinyáya's favorite kind of meeting.

The meeting began in the traditional manner: Vinyáya motioned for a debate on adding the demon Qwan to the Council, as a representative for his race, and was swiftly quashed with a two-to-five vote. Even Nicolai didn't consider the idea of lowering his share of power by adding a new member to the governing body. For the first time, Vinyáya really thought about why Lope was never one to vote in favor the discussions, and that led to a minor mood swing that almost made her burst into tears. She managed to suck them back down, however, and was soon her normal self.

A few small issues were brought up. 10,000 years of civilization more than humans, and the People still had plenty for the government to debate. A few property skirmishes were settled, some gold was sent to over-budget projects (a few other's being told where they could d'arvit themselves, diplomatically), debriefings were given on the LEP's (and Section 8's, secretly) planned raid on a suspected B'wa Kell stronghold, and a few minor awards were assigned to LEP and LEFD officers.

Vinyáya voted almost automatically during the proceedings, though she sat straight and spoke clearly. She did not want to give any indication that the pregnancy was taxing her. She saw Cahartez and Scale muttering in turns with Lope, and ran the edge of a fingernail across her desk, wishing her manicure held her favorite combat weapon: a simple set of short, spring-loaded blades that popped out whenever she flicked her fingers, the motion remarkably cat-like and entirely arresting to the eye.

Cahartez, she decided. She should have talked to him. Given some indication that she would side with him on a hearing about his pet case, and mention she could only do that if she had power. It was a damned fool mistake to make, not trying that track.

Vinyáya knew when her case was about to be announced. Lope cleared his throat, pausing until the Council's full attention was on him. He nodded graciously, laying folded hands on his desk. "As you all know, I have been the recipient of many concerned calls from the citizens of the Lower Elements, and even a few from those seated here," he said, looking about.

Vinyáya scowled inwardly. She imagined any comments from the Council weren't _concerned_ in the least.

"I am, of course, speaking of our own Councilwoman Arnica Vinyáya and her progressing pregnancy."

It took great effort to avoid jumping to her feet and pointing an accusatory finger at Lope with a shout of "objection!" She remained silent. Watchful. A tiger in the shadows.

Disappointed at the refused sortie, Lope went on. "We can all be agreed medical research has shown that significant stress during pregnancy has a negative impact on the health of both mother and child." He looked about the circle of desks at the other members, though no one nodded. Either they hadn't bothered to research pregnancy much, not having the necessary inward bits, or they were avoiding any sign of supporting the council head. "Specifically, an increase in complications during gestation, and even miscarriage, if the stress is incurred early on or is great enough."

Duke was pacing with his back legs, mane tossing as he waited for the perfect opening.

"As I'm sure we are all aware, Vinyáya has possibly the largest workload of any fairy alive. Wing Commander, Councilwoman, and head of Section 8. It stands to reason that she is stressed."

"Only if you ignore the fact that she's been doing all three jobs for two hundred years, and has not shown any signs of stress for decades!" Delighted at his point, Duke kicked and grinned at his elven friend.

"We _all_ know Vinyáya is a suitable operative," Lope retorted blandly, "but she is also an accomplished _actress_." Lope sounded like he was speaking to a mere thirty-year-old, not a three-centuried stallion of technically equal power. "That is why she was chosen to head Section 8 to begin with."

"Yes," Vinyáya conceded. "I do fake things rather well. Don't you think so, Councilman?" Vinyáya smiled sweetly at Lope, resisting the urge to wink.

Direct hit. Lope narrowed his eyes for just a half-second before putting back on his politician's mask. "And thus my point. The Councilwoman could easily hide any signs of distress. It is our _duty_ to protect her and her _defenseless_ child, should she be...concealing anything truly_ important_." He returned the smile, though with a bit more rabid canine than tender feline.

Scale did not react, but Cahartez sat a little straighter. Vinyáya did some swift mental calculations. Would Cahartez oppose her because of the "irresponsible mother" angle? It was too vague of an argument and reaction to be sure.

"I would like to point out," Nicolai said, trying to look as tall as possible as the Council focused on him, "that you are suggesting we legislate not only Vinyáya's professional, but her _reproductive_ fitness. It is a very slippery slope. If we put her on leave, then do we put every pregnant fairy on leave, as well? No woman of child-bearing age will ever have job security, if employers see her as a potential vacancy in the workforce!"

"We do not need to decide for _all_ women," Nyle said reasonably. His tongue flicked out to clean an eyeball, somewhat damaging his politician's mien. "Just Councilwomen. Or Commanders in the LEP." He played with a ball of fire, rolling it across his desk, adding extra black marks to its already streaked glass surface.

"And if the fire department gets a female chief?" Duke clopped a back hoof in challenge. "And what of majors? And captains? How far down should this go?"

"Those are all preposterous arguments," Lope said evenly. "We are dealing with a _very_ special circumstance. We can easily determine what happens in this one case and not assume it will start some sort of...avalanche!"

"'First they came for the Communists...'" Nicolai muttered.

Lope sneered at the _reductio ad Hitlerum_. "It seems apparent that none of us can be swayed on this most delicate issue. I move for a vote."

Vinyáya felt a flash of alarm go through her. They were still debating! He couldn't do that!

"And I," Cahartez harrumphed, "move for a recess."

"I second that motion!" Vinyáya snapped automatically, giving the dwarf a small nod. It was a blessing. A supportive one, or just tunnel gas that needed tending to at an opportune moment?

Lope did not respond, waiting for a second on his motion. When it did not come, the majority of the Council rising, he shot a rather non-diplomatic look at the dwarf and called for a vote to recess, which was met with resounding acceptance.

Vinyáya rose swiftly, leaving her desk and going to stand before Cahartez, who was taking his sweet time leaving, for someone who had called the recess. In fact, when Vinyáya caught sight of his tablet, he appeared to be playing a particularly complicated game of sudoku.

"Does this mean I have your vote?"

"There are better ways to spend your time than bothering me, _Wing Commander_," the dwarf muttered, adding a 3 to the board and swiftly placing it's companions in the proper spots as logic played out.

"But you stopped..." Vinyáya halted as Cahartez stood, muttering something about the restroom, and lumbered out.

She stared after him. What _was_ a better use of her time? If Cahartez was on her side, then that meant the vote couldn't go through. She was safe, right?

There was a saying in the LEP, when trying to prompt someone during a particularly tricky tactical game. It was a new saying, but proving itself remarkably effective.

WWFD.

What would Fowl do?

Well, first he would act rather creepy and nigh-omnipotent, and then...

"Councilman Lope," Vinyáya called, putting a soft hand on Scale's shoulder to urge the sprite out of his private conversation with her target. "I would like to speak with you for a moment."

"And I would rather we didn't," Lope said cooly, trying to turn again to his possible backer.

"I suppose that is understandable," Vinyáya said, stepping between them. She drummer her fingers on the side of her neck, blowing out a frustrated breath. "I suppose what I have to say will wait until we reconvene, so we can discuss it before the _entire_ Council."

Scale looked suddenly interested in what the woman had to say. "Perhaps right now—"

"That won't be necessary," Lope intervened, taking a step back, sweeping his hand out to urge her onward. "Are my chambers suitable?"

"Oh, quite," Vinyáya said, placing a hand on her ex-lover's shoulder and following him from the general chambers and into the private offices. She imagined how they looked and couldn't help but smile. Like reconciling lovers. Just another piece for her defense...

Lope let her inside his private room without comment, ignoring a pair of intimate green wingback chairs. Instead, he went to his desk, flouncing into the chair and leaning back, placing his loafers on the surface. "Well?" he finally said, waving a hand at her. "Quickly, Miss. I can't delay the meeting because of your prostrations."

Vinyáya wasn't sure which sparked her hormones more: "prostrations" or "miss." If there was one disadvantage to being single, it was high-and-mighty males using the latter term like it was a sign of failure. She managed to avoid a reaction, taking a seat at the end of the desk, rather than the opposing chair, smoothing out the shining fabric of her blue cocktail dress. Six months in, and she was spending an absolute _fortune_ on clothes whenever she had a Council meeting or official event. Soon, she would have to take the dreaded trip to purchase..._maternity wear_.

That, of course, could wait until she handled this. Yawning briefly and patting her lips, Vinyáya made her lunge. "You will retract your motion when the meeting begins again."

Lope burst into instant laughter. He almost sounded unhinged, overtaken by the notion. He shook his head, flashing every bright tooth at the wing commander. "I will trust that is not _all_ you intended to say. Please, make your threat. I retract, or else...?"

Shrugging, Vinyáya played with the ends of her hair. "Or else I have an absolute glut of free time, I suppose."

"What a _tragedy_," Lope muttered, closing his eyes, as if about to take a nice nap.

"Oh, I'll make the best of it," Vinyáya allowed. "Catch up on my reading, look for a copy of _Silence on the Wind_, schmooze." She clapped her hands. "I could finally spend a good afternoon with Hibiscus!"

Lope seemed bored out of his mind at this discussion of her social calendar.

"You met her," Vinyáya pointed out, making Lope blink slowly in disinterested response. "At the promotion ball. The reporter. Hibiscus Brenner, mother of the Kelp boys? She seemed _quite_ taken with you. I suppose she'd jump at a chance to learn a bit more about you, perhaps do a nice exposé..."

Finally following the conversation with a degree of interest that Vinyáya found appropriate, Lope opened his mouth to give a warning.

"We could discuss the five _years_ you spent routinely asking me to dinner, despite my not being interested."

"I never pressured you, if that is what you are implying."

"Or how you were demanding to fuck me from day one."

Lope leaned over the desk to get close to Vinyáya's constantly smirking face, the better to yell at her. "That is an exaggeration! I respected your refusals, and you _willingly_ slept with me!"

Vinyáya hummed and leaned over until she almost brushed her lips against Lope's, their breaths twining. "How, once you had me in bed, you _begged_ me to suck on your toes..."

"I did no such thing!" Lope shrieked, with all the vocal dignity of a pubescent at his first coed pool party.

"I know!" Vinyáya laughed, laying delicate fingers on her collarbone, as if to stifle her chest's tremors. "And I'm sure Brenner will suspect, but that won't keep her from including it in the story."

Teeth clenched so hard they didn't even open for enunciation, Lope said, "I will _sue_ you for slander."

"And you will win, I suppose. Though Brenner will be let off for reporting the words of a credible witness." Vinyáya pouted, as if sympathizing with his loss. "And, as for me...well, I suppose I will have to wait another decade to pay off my house. Such a shame. I only have ten months left and all."

"_And_ I will make you issue a public denial!"

"Oh, for certain!" Vinyáya chirped. "It might even get on the news a few nights in a row, if things are slow. But...I rather think every woman you woo from then on will be wondering. Is it true? Are you're going to ask them to..." She did something rather obscene with her tongue.

Lope stared at her mouth with a degree of interest Vinyáya did not approve of.

"And, then of course, there will be the newspapers," she said quickly. "Oh, they won't repeat the story," Vinyáya assured when it looked like Lope was about to interrupt. "Far too dangerous. But they won't really let the story go away, will they? It's just _too_ good. I can just imagine the headlines now." She held her hands up, expanding them in the fashion of a producer trying to woo an actor with the image of their name in lights. "'Councilman Lope once again _toes_ the party line.'" She looked at him, smiling. "Quite catchy, don't you think?"

"Do you really imagine," Lope growled, "that I am going to be intimidated by this threat?"

"Well, yes," Vinyáya said, sliding off the desk, pulling down on her dress as it drifted up her thighs. "Just remember: that is what I come up with on two minutes' notice. Give me until lunchtime tomorrow, and I can have something _really_ juicy." She began to walk to the door, but paused, patting her lips contemplatively as she consulted the male.

"Which is worse for a man of your advanced age: a small penis or erectile dysfunction?" At Lope's shocked coughs, she tsked. "No, no, I think premature ejaculation really spans all ages. And it just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?"

Before Lope could give further threats, Vinyáya glanced at her gold and sapphire moonometer. "Oh, dear. Ten minutes are up. We wouldn't want to keep everyone waiting, would we?" Bestowing on him a smile so sweet it would rot a dwarf's teeth, Vinyáya pushed open the door.

She was immediately accosted by a high-stepping, panicky Duke. "Vinyáya!" He trumpeted, ears laid back. "You need to talk to Cahartez. I can't get him to say anything but 'does the four go here?' Damned Mud Man logic puzzle!"

"Easy, Duke," Vinyáya soothed, giving the centaur a brisk rub on his flank. "I believe an agreement has been reached."

"What? How?" Duke reared just as Lope exited his office. "Did you _blow_ him for his vote or something?"

Duke was being flamboyantly overdramatic enough for Vinyáya to know it wasn't a real accusation, but it gave her pause. She gained a positively shark-like grin, playing her tongue against the back of one glittering incisor, catching Lope's eyes. "Now that _would_ be an intolerable scandal, wouldn't it? The People would scream for _both _of our resignations if a nasty little rumor like that got out."

Lope paled, but drew himself up, stepping around Duke's flank and making his way to the Council chambers. He yelled back at them, for the first time in his life resembling a crotchety old man. "Don't dawdle, you two! Time is up!"

Duke watched the male's back, tail flipping furiously as he took in the barely restrained panic. When Lope was out of view, he turned to Vinyáya, shaking a finger in her face. "You, my dear, are evil."

"Oh, but aren't I?" Vinyáya held out her arm to the centaur "Shall we?"

Duke lay his fingers on Vinyáya's forearm, fanning at his face. "Oh, let's shall." Hips swaying to a degree most impressive on a centaur, Duke followed Vinyáya down the halls and to the chambers, giggling as Vinyáya kissed his hand and pulled out a chair, adding in a little batting of the eyelashes as he sat.

The chambers at large rolled their eyes at the interchange, waiting for the Council Head to call order.

Lope took far too long clearing his throat. Three tries, in fact, plus one squeaky false start before he choked out the proper words. "I hereby declare this meeting of the Council reconvened." A tap of the gavel. "As the first order of business, I rescind my motion on the matter of Vinyáya's leave from duties."

Nyle sprang to his feet, the ball of flames he had been playing with falling to the floor, where it caught a circular rug with the crest of Haven on fire. "Then I shall be the first to motion on the matter!"

Vinyáya stared at the flaming carpet, counting up in her head.

Taking up his chiefly duties, Duke yanked a fire extinguished from under his desk, dousing the rug with a jet streaming foam, a white fog spreading out to dim the lights of the room. Scowling, he turned to Nyle, sending a quarter-second puff at the goblin's smoldering hands.

Nyle hissed, plus-sign shaped, goat-like pupils flashing red.

Another burst of foam, this time to the mouth, cut off the challenge, to be replaced by cursing and tongue-scraping.

"Two point three seconds," Vinyáya commented, smiling when Duke snapped, having just missed a new record.

"It has been motioned," Lope intoned officially, ignoring the rather common emergency. "Who seconds this motion?"

Crickets were heard. Cahartez looked about, lips smacking at the carapaced intruders.

Lope looked to Cahartez, who leaned back in his chair, yawning at length. An appeal to Scale resulted in the sprite snapping his wings tight to his body. When he caught Vinyáya's eyes, they became locked for what seemed like several minutes. When Lope blinked at a bead of sweat as it neared his eye, Vinyáya smirked and turned her head away.

"Very well," he muttered. "The motion dies." An almost feeble tap of the gavel brought the discussion to an end. "Next on the agenda—"

"You know, we _just_ talked about this," Vinyáya said, leaning over her desk and cradling her head with both hands, "but I'd like to motion again on the discussion of Qwan's Council appointment." She looked about the room, lips curled.

Duke, sighed, shaking his head at the repetition. Despite this, he took a breath, preparing to back her.

"I second the motion."

Vinyáya's cat eyes went a millimeter wider as she looked over at Cahartez, still sprawled negligently in his chair. At the dwarf's shrug, she glanced down, hiding the change in her smile.

"Very well," Lope said through gritted teeth. "It has been motioned and seconded that we discuss a new appointment to the Council. All those in favor, say 'aye.'"

As the votes came in, Vinyáya thought back to her earlier plan.

What would Fowl do?

Go for the throat and not let go until his opponent backed away, tail tucked between his legs, never to return.

* * *

One would have thought Vinyáya and Duke quite drunk, based on their volume as they recited the Ballad of King Frond. Vinyáya had taken a cab to the meeting, to avoid mussing her dress, but Duke insisted on giving her a ride home.

A _literal_ ride.

She perched side-saddle, one arm curled around his shoulder to help counteract the rolling gate. Duke was, in fact, a little tipsy, having enjoyed a celebratory swig or two from his office stash, though not so much as to make him sway across the sidewalk. Just enough to make all his notes go flat, and for him to not notice.

"Brilliant. Bloody fucking brilliant!" Duke stopped in front of the little blue house, helping his companion slide off without the risk of twisting her ankle. Once the woman was down, he patted his flank back to glossy smoothness. "Qwan is going to be..._ecstatic._"

"Ecstatic?" Vinyáya barked a laugh, shaking her head. "He's going to be all solemn, and say it's an honor, and then complain that he has no time to train N°1!"

"Bloody. _Fucking._ Brilliant!" Duke did a little hop, kicking, then pranced in place. "Come on. Let's go in, have a little party."

"Duke, I'm _exhausted_. Qwan is going to call me the second he hears and ask a zillion questions, so I have _got_ to get some sleep."

Duke pouted. "Spoilsport." He only brightened when Vinyáya grabbed his horns and pulled him down for a peck on the cheek.

"Now go on. Don't want those wives of yours thinking you and I are having a little office fling, now do you?"

"Oh, _girl_," Fleetwood neighed, bumping the elf with his rump. "You _wish_ you could have all this." He let his hands flit down his chest, displaying his totality.

"Off with you!" Vinyáya ordered, slapping the offending rump, sending Duke in a bucking run down the street, booming with laughter.

Shaking her head, but smiling, Vinyáya walked up the winding garden path. Being as quiet as possible, she slid her key in, pausing to give her boarder a chance to settle (maybe it was time to get a quieter lock, in addition to new garden doors...), and then finally walked in.

She needn't have worried about the key. There was a movie menu repeating softly from the living room, masking her entrance. That would grate on her nerves quite quickly, so she first made her way to enforce silence.

Lili looked up from the couch, a flash of fear hitting her as the house's owner came into view, soon morphing into embarrassment as the older woman's eyes widened, taking in the scene.

Lili was lying on her back, pinned down by the unconscious body of Grub Kelp. He lay on top of and slightly between her legs, and her ankles had came about to hold onto his calves for stability once he had fallen asleep and begun to slip. She had never been in this position before, but Lili was well aware of what it looked like. A pity it _wasn't_ what it looked like.

"I'm trapped," she mouthed.

Grub snorted in his sleep.

Vinyáya raised an eyebrow.

"Help me," Lili pleaded.

Vinyáya did her version of "helping" by walking around the glass coffee table to turn off the television, waving at Lili as she went back to the hall.

Keeping in a frustrated scream, Lili let her head fall back on the couch arm. She had never taken a boy home for illicit activities when her family was alive, but she suspected her current feelings would be appreciated by naughty girls everywhere.

From the kitchen, there came a sharp squeaking. Lili squinted, analyzing it according to the sound-recognition coaching Trouble had been giving her in preparation for her far-distant captain's exam. Mostly short squeaks, but also some longer ones that altered in pitch. It was...writing on a dry erase board! Lili grinned. Trouble would be proud.

Vinyáya reappeared in the living room a moment later, holding the board and waving it to make sure Lili noticed the message.

_Rub his wing nubs._

Lili scowled and mouthed at her: "Why?"

Shrugging, Vinyáya tossed the board onto an armchair and breezed out of the hall. A few seconds later, her bedroom door creaked open, then closed again with an extra click as the lock was done.

Biting her lip, Lili considered. Wing nubs—the vestigial bones on an elf's shoulder blades—were generally neutral in feeling. For it to be a tip from Vinyáya, how irritated must Grub get when his were touched? Enough to wake him up and free her, it seemed. But too much to be worth the risk? It had been a nice night, and ending it with a fight over a little prodding seemed unwise.

Still...she could start with a soft touch, to test the waters. She _really_ wanted free, after all. He was sort of lying on her bladder, and the couch was extremely uncomfortable, to boot.

Carefully, Lili wrapped her arms around Grub's chest, hands resting on the tough bits of skin near the ends of his shoulders. She considered her position and smiled. No wonder she felt like a bad little schoolgirl. Her skirt had even come up a bit when Grub shifted in his sleep, making it look like they were post-coital, instead of non-coital.

Experimentally, she did a single, circular test rub.

Grub's eyes tightened, fighting her touch and consciousness.

A little more pressure on the subsequent trio of rubs.

Grub moaned, shaking his head.

Clear progress. Throwing caution to the wind, Lili began to rub at his shoulders firmly and constantly.

At first, she thought nothing was going to happen. It would be just like the wing commander to give her false information. Then she felt a vibration against her chest. It took her quite a while to realize what she was feeling. Grub was..._growling_?

_I guess he _really_ doesn't like it. Well, only a little more and I'm—_

"D'arvit," Lili whispered.

Grub had risen to his elbows, moving himself up Lili's body, and clamped his teeth in the curve of her neck. Pain briefly flared at the attack, washed away as his teeth gentled, soon replaced by a clever tongue that banished the sting with a trickle of magic.

As the tongue became merely a component in a series of kisses that transferred from Lili's neck to her collarbone and down to the swell of her breasts, the true measure of Vinyáya's treachery became apparent. She hadn't revealed an irritating spot, but instead divulged the secret switch that turned Grub on in the most positive sense.

_Gods bless that bitch,_ Lili thought as she tried to stifle a moan. One of Grub's hands tugged at the collar of her shirt, pulling until his mouth moved to find something hard among the soft flesh, making Lili whimper and arch into him. His skills—Gods _bless_ that bitch for teaching him to do _that_ with his tongue!—were amplified by her months of waiting. She couldn't remember the last time this had felt so good.

The male's other hand pushed at Lili's leg, moving it higher up on his waist. When he was satisfied with the new position, his hand came back down her thigh, light fingertips raising goosebumps behind his touch as he came to his inevitable goal.

There wasn't much to the lace underthings, and he merely pulled them to the side, leaving Lili bare. She gasped at the shock of cold metal when his belt buckle and buttons pressed against her, but Grub's hand was already fumbling to remove the impediments.

"We," Lili began, the sound papery and torn away as she heard a zipper being swiftly taken down. Licking her lips, she tried again. "We should go back to my place. AH!" She whimpered as the kind lips were momentarily replaced by teeth, testing her limits. "Gods, Grub..."

Growl deepening, Grub looked up at Lili, eyes opening, but fuzzy. "You...heh," he paused, licking his lips and returning for a brush along the woman's curves. "You finally said my name..."

Lili's brows drew together. "What?"

Grub pulled away, glowing with happiness. He blinked down at her.

"...Lili?"

Grub's vision only took a second to sharpen as he came fully awake.

But it only took a half-second for tears to come to Lili's eyes. "Get off me, Grub."

He mostly complied, holding himself up with his arms. "Lili, what...oh." He looked down at the crux of their bodies, eyes widening as he took in the meager air between them. "Oh..."

"Get. _OFF!_" Lili jerked her body to the side, getting power behind her movements, and came back, fist slamming into Grub's lips.

His head snapped back, body following the momentum until he was overbalanced, falling sideways off the couch, head crashing into the corner of the coffee table. Red stars burst behind his eyes, veins of black on the edge threatening to overtake him.

Lili leapt off the couch and over the table, a blur to the man's distorted vision.

"Lili...wait," he rasped, the blackness being replaced by blue as he sat up.

She didn't even break stride as she leaned over to hook her long nails in a pair of sandals by the door. Not bothering to put them back on, she wrenched the front door open, dashing down the garden path, bare feet slamming into the paving stones with a noise like gunshots.

"Lili...wait!" Struggling to his feet and staggering, Grub ran pell-mell for the door. He arrived just in time to catch sight of Lili taking a running leap off the sidewalk, arms pinwheeling as her feet tapped lightly on the passenger-side door of her convertible, momentum carrying her past it to the driver's seat, where she slammed into the door as she settled. Grub dimly thought that Holly would be proud of the move—it was the kind you would expect from a gymnast, or a ninja—but the idea slipped away as the car roared to life, tires screeching as Lili J-turned back towards Principality Hill.

Finishing his re-dressing as he ran, Grub followed down the center of the street, legs burning as he pushed them past their limits. "Lili! Lili, please! _Lili! WAIT!_"

It was far too late, and he knew it, but Grub couldn't accept the finality until he came to the end of the street and looked about, the silver car long lost to sight. His legs were weak, and he didn't even bother to go to the side of the road before he crashed to his knees, crying out at the pain of impact.

Chest heaving, Grub fumbled in his pockets, taking out his cell phone and speed-dialing the fleeing woman. As he expected, there were two rings before he was sent to voicemail. On a second try, he was sent straight to the message box. Sinking further to rest on his calves, Grub tried to think logically. Help. He needed help.

He dialed the only number that came to mind.

Trouble answered, voice a low rumble, nearly drowned out by thumping club music that Grub knew would be felt deep in the commander's bones, wherever he was. "Grub, this had _better_ be good. I am _in_ tonight, and my date? She has a twin, Grub. _Identical. Twin._ Better. Be. _Good_."

Shaking his head, fingers pulling at his hair, Grub whimpered. "Trouble...I think I really fucked up."

* * *

**Preview: "****A strangled smile fell from your face./ It kills me that I hurt you this way./ The worst part is that I didn't even know./ Now there's a million reasons for you to go,/ but if you can find a reason to stay..."**

* * *

**I wonder if anyone got the video game reference. Tell me if you spotted it!**

**Also, am I the only one who noticed that printed euros weren't in circulation until 2002, thus making the past portion of **_**Time Paradox**_** happen in 2002, since Artemis was paid by Kronski in euros, completely fucking my timeline? Oh, what was that you said? I'm lame as hell for noticing that? Yeah, I can kinda see your point...**


	32. I Know What's At Stake

Voting is open on The Big Reveal Contest! And, let me say, I am _floored_ by all the wonderful entries. So floored that _every one_ will be podficced. I am currently in the middle of editing all the recorded tracks, and have hopes that it will all be done within a few days of the end of voting.

Due to issues with having multiple polls on my profile (ie. That I can't), voting will be done by sending a private message to my profile. One vote per category. Here are the eligible entries, followed by the categories.

**Entries:**

_"Keep Talking" by welcometofightclub_

_"Paranoid Android" by Captain Holly Short of the LEP_

_"Coming Out" by Lli_

_"Career Ending Words" by Ljemima_

_"Unexpected" by Ann Incorporated_

_"A Manifestation of Guilt" by The Creatress_

"_Orion At Your Service" by ngneer_

"_Diamond Grains & Talus Piles" by HolidayBordom_

"_Drabbling," chapter 76, "A Certain Feisty Fairy" by ilex-ferox_

"_Cross-Fire" by Ru-Doragon_

_"Scorpius" by Xybolic_

(Please note: Due to length, I had to disqualify Forever Day's wonderful "Those Little Incidents," but it is being included in the recorded collection, and has been given the special award for Sexiest Artemis. Rowr. I'd sure like him to drag me into a dark cave...)

**_Categories:_**

_Funniest_

_Most painful_

_Most romantic_

_Best overall_

_Precognitive (for whichever fic is most like what Colfer wrote)_

Get voting! You have until the 10th to make your voice heard! And you don't even need to be 18!

* * *

**Behind-the-scenes (beware, TAC spoilers!)**

**In the living room of Mrs. Kit's flat, there were mixed feelings.**

**Grub was pouting because he had not made a single damned appearance in the book. But, as usual, no one was paying attention to him.**

**Holly, Lili, Trouble, and Artemis were all sitting at the coffee table. There were two bottles of alcohol on the table, and two glasses. The boys were the ones using the glasses, toasting freely.**

**"I'm not _currently_ dating Holly!" Trouble cheered, clinking his glass to Artemis's, delighted at the author's technical loss of the infamous "The-Smut-That-Shall-Never-Be-Written" bet.**

**"And I," Artemis crowed, downing the glass of champagne without complaint about the five-dollar price tag and harsh palate, "am going to have a_ m__énage à trois__!_" He added extra French to the pronunciation, and the boys clinked their glasses so hard that most of the wine spilled out. Truly, their cup runneth over.**

**Holly and Lili passed the bottle of tequila between them, glad that Artemis had discovered a delightful loophole on the alcohol problem: not asking a human if you could drink their spirits was a sort of theft, and theft of a human's drink was certainly not the same as sharing drinks with a human.**

**"It's okay, boss," Lili hiccoughed. "We'll get through this...together."**

**It was possibly the worst thing she could have said, and Holly took to her feet, going into Kit's office and slamming the door behind her.**

**On the couch, watching the kiddies, Vinyáya held up her head with one hand, leaning on the arm rest. She seemed the most neutral of the bunch. "No appearances, so likely dead...but no body found, so possibly alive..."**

**Then, she smiled. "But...zombies."**

**She could live with it, killed in the Arctic or not.**

* * *

**Song: "Whatever It Takes" by Lifehouse**

* * *

**Chapter 32: I Know What's At Stake**

**Week 27**

It didn't take long for Vinyáya to figure out why Frond was absent from Kelp's activities all weekend, and she was fully behind Lili's rage. Sure, it was flattering to know she had made such an...impression on the young man. At the same time, remaining involved with him was becoming far too complicated. Or far too simple. She wasn't really sure which.

Time passed quickly. Rising on Monday morning to the smell of activated yeast and cinnamon felt like a dream. She was warm and...light, somehow. She couldn't recall waking in the middle of the night, which never happened, of late. More than five hours of sleep, and she would either have to sojourn to the recycling lounge, empty the fridge, or have a brief and intense conversation with her wildly kicking fetus (said fetus wasn't a good listener, so this was rarely effective). But now she was relaxed, and the world felt soft and perfect and seemed to wrap about her like a blanket.

The scent of cooking cinnamon and apples enticed her, luring her from bed, and she followed the sinful pastry smell down the hall and into the kitchen. Her robe floated about her with each move, the silk tickling her legs with a sound like a sigh. She didn't feel hungry, precisely, but it seemed the thing to do.

Predictably, Grub was in residence, facing away from the door as he finished washing the morning's dishes. The sight of him made Vinyáya freeze, heart racing.

He wasn't...wearing a shirt. She couldn't remember the last time she had taken the effort to remove his clothes, and a lot seemed to have changed in those many months. There was some definition to his back that she had never expected, and his muscles could be seen shifting under the skin whenever he moved. And this was distracting, truly, but there was something far more puzzling. Something beyond the mystery of why he was bare-chested in the kitchen (very odd, as even being barefoot in the kitchen was against his nature). Something she had never seen before.

"Kelp...when..." She stepped forward, covering the distance between them. He did not react to her, and she stopped a pace away, fingertips tingling as she ached to touch the anomaly. Just an inch before she did, her hand jerked back, as if she had gone too close to a blazing fire.

Finally, she tried again. "When...did you get a tattoo?"

Grub looked over his shoulder, scowling. "Years ago. Don't tell me you never noticed." When she did not begin to immediately proclaim that she _had_ noticed, he shook his head, burnt orange hair drifting about his eyes and brushing his neck. "Figures..."

"I...guess I didn't look much."

As he returned back to his task, she continued to examine the black ink.

It seemed like a homemade crest or coat of arms, the top bordered by a banner with the words "Lower Elements Police" in a stylized Gnommish script that could have been called Gothic, if the People had ever had such a period. Below it were two acorns, followed by a name: "Major Manfred Elric Kelp," to show that the dual acorns should have been rendered in gold, if any color had been used in their creation. Then two dates, separated by a dash, and, finally, in small type, a long list of awards and honors leading to the bottom point of the crest.

It was an impressive piece. Even though all of the ink was black, its intricate shading and size, covering almost all of the man's back, indicated that it took several sessions to complete. It was almost perfect, as well, but for a thin, jagged line at the bottom point, skittering off towards the male's hip.

Her fingers seemed to move of their own volition, pressing against Grub's back, right where the mistake began. A little jolt went up her arm, making Vinyáya bite her lower lip, eyes closing for a few moments as she waited for the feeling to disperse.

Grub tensed instantly, but did not move away, or even speak. He did, however, breath a little faster.

Composed again, Vinyáya traced the error at a glacial pace. "What happened here?"

"That's...where the artist started." She could hear the self-depreciating smile in his words. "I flinched."

"Hmmm..." She let her touch go back to the crest proper, following the curved outline towards his shoulders. "It's easy to get things like that fixed. They have a special laser for it. You can't even see a difference. Why didn't you have it done?" She almost expected the lines to feel raised or depressed, but there was no difference between the blackened skin and the natural bronze bordering it.

"Because...it's a reminder." Grub sighed, dropping a dish back to the water, letting his head hang as he submitted to the contact. He wasn't shaking or moving away, but the muscles in his back twitched, and he steadied himself by putting his arms out on either side of the sink, keeping himself propped up, knuckles turning white as he gripped the stainless steel.

"A reminder?" Vinyáya asked, trying to read the dates. She _knew_ they were dates, but why did her vision of them seem so...incomplete? So blurry? "A reminder of what?"

"To never..." Grub shook his head, loose hair shifting about his ears. "To never..._d'arvit!"_

He spun, grabbing Vinyaya's trespassing hand at the wrist.

She gasped, jerking back, but her arm barely moved. How had he become so _strong_? Even her standard hold breaks failed, and, when she stopped the physical resistance to switch to intimidating glares, Grub took advantage of the stillness, pulling the woman to his bare chest, free arm wrapping about her waist so she stood flush against him. She tried to gasp again as she felt a familiar tension between them, needy and pressed to her flat stomach.

Something was _very_ wrong here...

She found she had never appreciated his height before. Vinyáya was tall for a female elf, but Grub stood over a hand higher, and she had the unfamiliar sensation of having to look up into a man's eyes, rather than at a level. When he spoke, it was in a deep, husky voice that made her knees weak, a region higher and between them going aflame at the undeniable lust in his words.

"I kept it to remind me to never flinch from something I _want_."

And then his lips dived, catching Vinyaya's. She tried to fight, at first, and made an odd squeak as his tongue forced her lips apart, entering her mouth and coaxing her to return the oral caress. She only seemed to resist a moment, and then it was too hot and too sweet and he must have been sneaking little bits of his cooking that morning because he tasted like cinnamon and apples and she moaned so loud she blushed, moaning again when he growled in approval, sucking on the tip of her tongue and flicking it with his own.

They broke off, panting, and Grub began to step forward, pushing Vinyáya before him, and there was no denying that his final destination was one of their bedrooms, where he would take her as he had done so many times before.

She couldn't let that happen. Not now. It would be..._great_, but _now_...?

Vinyáya dug in her feet, sending them both to a temporary stop. She was frantic, mind fuzzier than even her most inebriated moments as a college fairy, and perhaps that was why her words became so mixed up. She tried to ask the simple question: "Why do you want me?" Because why should he, after being treated as a toy, an enemy, a dog, a burden, a nothing?

What came out in a scream was so much scarier.

"_Why did I want you?_"

After an extended silence, while the words echoed about the house, he laughed. Grub released her waist, using a thumb to brush an unruly strand of hair from her eyes and behind an ear, then tracing down the tender ridge and beyond, soon exploring her lips, ending by holding onto her chin as he leaned in to touch their mouths together in a softer caress.

Vinyáya could not help but close her eyes and sigh into it, because, gods, he was pretty damned good at that. Why had she never tried this before? It made all of the right parts of her go tender, and she barely caught his answer when they broke off.

"Because, Vinyáya...you know I'll never leave you."

She met this with a soft smile, eyelids fluttering open.

Then widening completely with a sharp intake of breath.

"I've got this, Wing Commander," the sprite—so long gone, but, gods, so familiar that she could remember even the little patches of missing stubble on his face where he was scarred from old missions—saluted as he backed away from her and towards the waiting pod.

Her mind reeled. Where had...what was...was he really...? "Lieutenant?" Vinyáya whispered, mouth going dry in the hot magma chute.

Her eyes drifted beyond him. Behind him. To the waiting pod that would soon fall towards the core in a smooth curve. Fall and fall and...

"Lieutenant!" She found she was yelling, even though she had not willed herself to do so. It was unstoppable. No. It had never happened. It wasn't going to happen. She reached out, catching the sprite's wrist.

A second later, she screamed and let go, staggering back. She held her hand up and saw the palm was white and red and black, instantly branded and blistered. At the tip of her ring finger, scorched bone peeked through.

That was when she began to scream.

* * *

Vinyáya was still screaming as she shot up in bed, on the verge of falling out as she struggled against the covers, one hand held out to her dream figure. She was panting, and it took several seconds for her to fully wake up.

A crash came from somewhere in the house, followed by pounding feet and a shrill call to almost match her own. "_Vinyáya!_"

She took a deep, painful breath. "What the _fuck!_"

The pounding steps stopped at her door, and the knob clattered as it was gripped, but not turned. "Vinyáya?" Grub ventured. "A-are you okay?"

"Y-yeah," she said quickly, wiping at her forehead. Her hand was slick as it came away, but so was her entire body. Including—she was horrified to realize—the throbbing area between her legs. She bit her lip to choke off a gasp as her body flared, still affected by the first half of her dream. "A nightmare! That's all."

"A...nightmare?" Grub said, and he sounded justifiably skeptical.

"Yeah. Just a nightmare. I'm awake." She tried to swing her legs out of bed, but froze as the blankets moved over her bare chest, forced to cover her mouth to stifle another moan. A fantasy that intense, and dream-Kelp didn't have the gods-damned decency to finish her off?

A moment later, Vinyáya's mind tripped as it realized she was wishing that dreams of Grub Kelp could make her climax in her sleep. She promptly decided to forget that she had ever had that thought.

"Do you...need help?"

_Actually, if you wouldn't mind, come in here and_—_ "No!_ I'm fine. I'm awake, now. All's well."

"Oh...well, good." The knob clattered again as Grub let go, likely backing away from the dragon's lair as fast as possible. "Um...breakfast is gonna be late. I dropped it when you...when I heard you."

Vinyáya blessed his self-editing. She probably would have bitched him into a corner if he acknowledged that she was screaming in terror as she slept. "Yes. That's fine. I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay. Good."

"Good."

"Yeah."

Vinyáya was about to shout orders for Grub to stop being an idiot and leave her alone when she heard his retreating footsteps. She tried a brief breathing exercise to reclaim control of her body, but pregnancy hormones were having none of that. The fear of the latter half of her dream was subsumed by the feelings from the first half until her breathing increased in tempo and her blood ran fast and hot, making every part of her terribly sensitive. She needed a shower. Not a cold shower, though. Fuck cold showers. She needed something almost scalding hot on her back and a body-warm jets...elsewhere.

Resolving to take to cleansing measures (physical and mental) even before she ate, Vinyáya slid out of bed, wrapping her robe on tight to maintain some modesty. Her pajama bottoms still fit (if allowed to rest low, beyond the curve of her stomach), but the top was a lost cause, no button able to conquer her now globe-like breasts. She had meant to purchase the dreaded "maternity clothes" this weekend, but with Qwan's celebrations and interviews with the media on the appointment, it never happened. Now, even her red silk robe was getting tight about the chest. That should have been her first clue in the dream, she decided. The robe had fit. And her stomach hadn't been swelled!

And she had wanted Grub Kelp. Dreams did strange things, that was for certain...

Ready for some time alone, she prepared to move down the hall with as much dignity and nonchalance as possible. And did so, until she came across the laundry room door, at which point her peripheral vision sent an urgent message to her feet, bringing her to an instant halt, head whipping to look inside.

Grub finished removing his shirt and then froze, looking at Vinyáya. A long second passed as they stared each-other down, hoping the gods would be kind and make this moment disappear.

When it became obvious that the gods were—as ever—complete fuckwits, Grub clutched the shirt to his chest and stepped back. "V-Vinyaya!" His elbow jabbed a box of detergent on top of the dryer, knocking it to the floor, where it filled the air (and their nostrils) with a white, summer-rainstorm-scented cloud (if the packaging wasn't lying). Grub sneezed as he took another step, the backs of his legs crashing against a laundry basket, arms pinwheeling as he fell, landing square in the middle of the dirty clothes, sending up another lightning-scented puff.

"Breakfast!" He shrieked in a rather girly manner. "I spilled it! On my shirt!"

"I see," Vinyáya said, eyes trying to flick from the scene. She prayed for confusion of the strong scents in the air. The detergent and something on Grub—likely the cinnamon she kept smelling in her dreams—would hopefully combine to mask her musk. Elves weren't much better than humans at identification by scent, but even a dull-nosed human would get suspicious at her particular aroma, at the moment. And Grub? Not a chance in the world that he wouldn't know what was wrong with her.

She needed a distraction from her own thoughts, and decided to look at the timer on the washer, as if she actually did any of the laundry (honestly, she wasn't sure if she knew how the damned thing worked). That glance was a huge mistake. The washer—off kilter from being slammed into by the male—was thumping loudly. She remembered something Holly had once told her in a bout of happy-hour margarita silliness: the best part about moving in with Fowl was having a washer and dryer. They did far more laundry than was strictly necessary.

Whilst this thought crossed her mind, Grub managed to right himself, turning so his back faced his host, scrambling in the basket for something to wrap about his upper body.

Vinyáya's eyes flicked to the elf again, and she gasped. It _couldn't_ be. It just...couldn't!

Then, she processed the sight completely. _What the hell? _Vinyáya tilted her head to the side, inspecting the man's back. "Um...Kelp?"

"Y-yes?" Grub squeaked, scrambling as he dropped a likely towel.

"When...did you get a tattoo?"

Grub shot up straight, looking at Vinyáya over his shoulder. "I didn't."

Pointing, Vinyáya said, "Then what the hell is on your back?"

Grub tried to keep turning and craning his neck to see his own spine, but was thwarted by anatomy. He grunted with each effort, grabbing at the muscles of his shoulder—nowhere _near_ as developed as Dream-Kelp, Vinyáya was pleased to see...and then she remembered that she shouldn't remember that—in an attempt to pull his skin into view. "I don't have a tattoo! D'arvit, I knew I shouldn't have agreed to drink with Trouble last night!"

Vinyáya finally noticed the bloodshot quality to the young man's eyes and assumed—quite rightly—that his big brother had got the captain shitfaced for the express purpose of taking a little artistic revenge on the behalf of the offended Frond. Quite treacherous, but Vinyáya had to admit that she was impressed with the Commander's drawing skills. It was a cartoon, but with a definite style that showed Trouble had developed his own signature, and a sort of life and movement that was amplified by the shifting of Grub's back muscles.

"Grrr...what is it?" Grub finally demanded, though he still tried to see.

It was hard work to contain her laughter. "It, er...it appears to be an ejaculating unicorn."

Grub froze, agape.

Vinyáya nodded in answer to his unvoiced question.

The sight of Grub trying to recoil from his own back finally made Vinyáya lose it, bursting into laughter, tears coming to her eyes. "Gods, you _idiot!_ Of course Trouble planned to do something like that! He's Frond's damned champion!"

"I gotta wash this off," Grub whimpered, fingers twitching and shoulders hunched, as if the drawn spray was not ink, but instead real magical stallion essence. "Ew. Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew!" He didn't even bother to put his shirt on—perhaps to avoid tainting it with randy unicorn—as he sprinted down the hall to get at the bathing pond.

Watching him go, Vinyáya hoped Commander Kelp hadn't used permanent marker for the drawing. She needed to use the pond, and soon. The sight of the real Grub Kelp had done a lot to wash away the memory of her dream, but she still needed to do indecent things with the spray nozzle.

* * *

Lili had expected the roses to be waiting on her desk when she came into work. She had refused delivery on a bouquet at the mansion, along with deleting all of her boyfriend's (...ex-boyfriend's) messages, both text and voice. As apologies went, those sort of things were standard. Every man that cheated on her—And, gods, there were a lot. It seemed every male thought she was the perfect combination of slutty, dumb, and forgiving.—would start with roses, the more ardent eventually moving on the jewelry. The jewelry was always accepted. Then pawned for a shopping spree.

She liked to give the trespassers a little gift during these trips. Normally, some very nice lotion...and a box of tissues.

She could be sort of bitchy like that.

She did not expect, however, to see Grub in the office as well, leaning against her desk as he waited for her to arrive. She assumed the memory of Holly's threat would have warned him off. He was, apparently, twice as stupid as she had previously thought.

He looked up as the door clicked open, and the most complicated mix of hope, fear, shame, and supplication flashed across his face. "Lili, I—"

"Out," she snapped, high heels clicking in the sudden silence as she walked past, placing her keys and coffee on the desk as she sat down.

"I'm not leaving until you listen to me." Grub turned, pushing the trio of roses across the desk until they nudged the coffee mug, at which point he stepped back, hands sliding into his pockets.

Lili looked dispassionately at the barely blooming red buds. "Nice bouquet, but I'm used to a bit more when guys fuck up."

"I figured the size wouldn't matter if you were going to just throw them in my face. Also, three would hurt a lot less than a dozen." He smiled tentatively.

"Tempting. Real tempting. Lucky for you, I have work to do, so scat." She flipped her hands at the door before returning to her duties, bringing a tablet out from a drawer and booting. When he did not leave, she flicked again, jaw clenching as she tried to keep her rage in check.

He shook his head. "I'm not leaving until you talk to me."

"About _what?_" Lili snapped, slamming her stylus to the desk with a sharp crack. "About how you were thinking of Vinyáya when you were about to_ fuck_ me?"

"I was _asleep!_' Grub looked injured at the first shot, but he remained standing, prepared for a long and painful fight.

"Can't you have the common decency," Lili whispered, "to lie about it?"

"No," Grub shook his head head rapidly. "I am not going to lie to you. I didn't before, and I wont now."

"How honorable," Lili scathed. "Then tell me why you want to fuck that harpy."

"I don't!" Grub choked. "Gods, haven't I said that enough? I don't want to be with Vinyáya! I can't control my dreams! Haven't you ever had dreams about someone you shouldn't?"

Lili smirked, skin tingling in anticipation as she launched her return assault. It was irresistible. "Oh, you mean like your _brother?_"

Lili expected Grub's reaction would help her shattered ego. It was the exact look she assumed he would take on: reeling back, eyes wide a moment before narrowing as he steeled himself against a flash of anger, fists clenching at his side, and a small shimmer at the corners of his eyes a moment later, which he barely fought down before it resulted in tears. He didn't even try speaking, jaw twitching as his teeth ground together.

"You can go, now," Lili whispered. She had expected to feel satiated by the obvious pain she had inflicted. An eye for an eye. When she didn't feel anything, the adrenalin seemed to drain out of her and she looked back to her tablet. "I'm very busy today."

"I _wont_, Lili. I don't know how many times I have to say this: I don't want to be with Vinyáya. I want to be with you. What can I do to make you realize that?"

She clicked through a few files, pulling up the day's schedule. She did this automatically, and, all the while, a question formed in her mind. Slowly, she looked up to his eyes, and spoke softly. "Why wont you sleep with me?"

Grub paused. "I..."

"And why do you still live with her?"

His confusion was an elegant answer.

"Have you even _looked_ for a new place?" Lili studied Grub's reactions, wondering if she could catch him in a lie, if he ever attempted one.

"It's just...going to be easier to take care of the child if we live together. You know that."

"Easier for _you_. I thought you were going to look for a better apartment, since you had more time, but you haven't, have you?" She paused, waiting for him to answer, but Grub just looked at the floor.

"That's what I thought. So you can say you want to be with me all you want. Because, whenever I drop you off after work, I know you're going home to _her_. Maybe not as her lover," Lili shrugged, "but, then...you never came home as mine, either."

"Lili—"

"Go," she whispered, letting her eyes fall back to the tablet, struggling to make sense of the Gnommish symbols. "Just...go. _Please._"

It seemed there was nothing left for Grub to say. He turned slowly, as if he hoped the delay would give Lili time to rethink her words and call him back, but she began to flip though her work for the day, letting him leave without protest, the door clicking softly behind him.

* * *

"I'd really like to know," Vinyáya said fairly randomly as she looked at a battle plan for the upcoming B'wa Kell raid, "why I get blamed for everything that goes wrong in that stupid boy's life."

Trouble hummed as he moved the red plastic elf that represented a Retrieval officer to a position behind three green Recon sprites. "Because you're a bitch."

Commander Verres of LEPTraffic coughed, poking at the blue magna-bike figure that stood in for his containment squad. If he had been a younger sprite, perhaps he would have been included in the conversation, but, being in his thirteenth century, he was far removed from the office's sexual politics. As a result, he found the entire affair fairly incomprehensible. The things these young fairies got up to, these days. The Wing Commander at least should have known better, surely.

Vinyáya glared past Verres, hitting Trouble with her gaze. "Commander. Do I need to file an incident report on your sexist language?"

"No," Holly said casually, putting a green figure that looked remarkably like a certain optically diverse elf on the roof of their target building. "Not if he's telling the truth. You're a bitch."

"Qwan?" Vinyáya appealed to the head of the telekinetic division.

"I find such language to be offensive to both genders, as well as morally repugnant," Qwan replied, using his powers to position three opaque purple warlocks at the likely exits.

Vinyáya smiled warmly at her new fellow councilman. "Thank you."

"Though, otherwise, I agree."

Vinyáya stopped smiling.

Verres began to make very quiet car chase noises as he drove one of his squad cars to the main roadway. If not for the dignity of his post, he would have avoided these meetings. He was practically useless, with Reconnaissance, Retrieval, and the Telekinetics on the case. He was practically an exclusive paper-pusher. In fact, he'd begun to wonder if he should court this scandalous Captain Kelp for another member of his office team. His magna-bike driving tests from back in the Academy hadn't been that bad, so he could probably hold his own back in the ranks of Traffic. Especially if he never had to actually ride a bike.

Vinyáya chose to ignore the motor-mouthing, waiting for him to park back in position, which he did, once her sour looks registered. That done, she analyzed the model. As the force's most battle-tested staff member, since the passing of Root, she was in charge of tactics. Luckily, after her centuries covertly running Section 8, she was a tactical genius of the highest caliber. She could even give Fowl a run for his money during a game of the fairy equivalent of 'Axis and Allies.'

"Not the skylight, Short. You know better than that. A forty foot fall, and all the while having to dodge goblin flames? No. Here." She moved the sub-commander's figure to a position halfway down the building, lengthwise. "Middle window, to get some height, and the glass will throw off their aim a bit. Not as flashy, but Fowl is less apt to seek revenge on me when your head gets blasted off."

Holly pouted and crossed her arms.

After making a few more adjustments, Vinyáya took a step back from the display and nodded "We'll need to adapt this as more intel comes in, but it's the best we can do. Scan." She said the last in a sharp, loud voice.

A blue matrix of light appeared on the table, rotating as it scanned up the models. In seconds, it was done, and a hologram appeared above the physical model, duplicating the setup. A pair of three-dimensional numbers were added in the air above the building, the first starting at "1" and the second at "100%." As the model began to play out, calculating the odds of success with that number of goblins in the warehouse, the officers took the opportunity to continue chatting.

"Lili's in a pissy mood," Holly commented to Trouble, who nodded.

"My brother did something stupid again."

"Ah," Holly said, not really needing the explanation. "Let me guess...a stern talking-to and commiseration over drinks?"

"Sure," Trouble grinned.

Holly tilted her head sideways, inspecting her boss's self-satisfied expression. "Masturbating troll?"

"Ejaculating unicorn, actually."

"Oh, that's new!" Holly cheered. "Got some pictures?"

"Yeah!" Trouble took his phone out, flipping through the images, bringing Holly much delight. Verres also leaned over, chuckling at the image of the passed-out younger Kelp's decorated back. Qwan grunted in disapproval, but his lips twitched when the phone was turned for him to see.

"Kelp," Vinyáya said blandly, "are you ever going to let that girl fight her own battles? You've been punishing her exes since the Academy." Vinyáya paused the simulation as success dropped below 90%, fiddling with the model before starting it again with success shooting back up.

"Nope," Trouble declared. Tipping the phone sideways and leaning towards Holly, he traced along the image. "This part was really brilliant. It's on his _latissimus dorsi_, so ever time he moves his arm, it looks like the stuff just flies out!"

"Nice!" Holly grinned but quickly sobered. "Vinyáya is right, though. You can't run in and coach the boy or avenge Lili every time something goes wrong."

"Oh?" Trouble said, suddenly snapping his phone closed. "Why not?"

"Because _your brother_ is dating Lili," Vinyáya pointed out. "Not you." The simulation reached the warehouses capacity, success still at about 90%, and she nodded, satisfied.

"I am _aware_ of that, Wing Commander."

"The point stands," Vinyáya said, shutting down the analysis. "You both are far too protective of that woman. Short, you can't always be Lili's guardian, and Kelp, you can't always be her avenger."

Trouble snorted, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest. "And if they break up and Grub is _suddenly_ single again and sleeping _just_ down the hall from you, then that is just _so_ convenient, isn't it?"

Vinyáya pushed back against the table, sliding her chair away so her stomach could clear it without much effort. She gave a nod to Verres and Qwan, a little smile to Holly, and a longer stare to the Recon and Retrieval Commander. She sighed, shaking her head. "Kelp...you really have no idea what you are talking about."

After a long stare-down, Trouble tilted his head to the side. His mouth twitched, eyes turning flat and emotionless. "Actually...I really think I do."

* * *

Grub was leaning against Lili's car when her shift ended, looking at one untied shoe, as if contemplating the effort involved in fixing it.

Lili saw him from far across the parking lot—really, he was pretty obvious, being visible over all the cars—and steeled herself. If he was going to look for a fight, she wanted a swift victory. Her strides were long and came down sharply, the click of her heels echoing in the stone structure.

Grub looked up at the sound, swallowing as he caught sight of the woman coming down upon him. The worst part about the LEP, he realized, is that every woman in it may not be able to kick your ass, but they intend to give it their best shot.

"Grub," Lili snapped, taking out her keys and clicking the remote once, only unlocking the driver's side door (sort of a moot point, being that it was a convertible, and the top was down), "go away."

"I need a ride," Grub said, ignoring the command.

Lili felt her insides flare. The _gall_!

"It's in South Haven, on Lionel Court," Grub said, holding out his data tablet. "It's a long way, and I don't think I can run there before the landlord has to leave."

Lili stopped her advance only a few feet from Grub, looking down at the tablet. The top half of the screen was dedicated to a sideshow, showing rock gardens, underground parking, a pool, and the interior of a sparsely decorated apartment. The lower half was filled with text too fine for her to read easily.

Despite herself, Lili reached out, taking the tablet so she could read the description. It gave those standard phrases advertisers used to hype up what was essentially a featureless living space: "friendly staff," "located near major shopping areas," "flexible leasing options." Of course, Lili had never moved out of Frond Mansion, except for her university and Academy terms, when she stayed in dorms. Thus, the warning signs did not jump out at her. She merely scrolled through, silently reading. When she was done, she looked at Grub, awaiting an explanation.

"I...you're right," he said, hands going back into his pockets and shrugging. "If I want this to work I can't...keep going on like I have been." He met her eyes, trying to read the flatness. "And I'm sorry it took hurting you to make me realize that. And I'll understand if you don't want—"

"Get in the car, Grub," she ordered.

He complied forthwith, opening the driver's side door and clambering over the gearshift, cursing as he bumped his knee. He rubbed it disconsolately as he strapped in and Lili took her place again, inspecting the tablet's driving instructions.

The listing was in a part of Haven that she had never visited before, which boded ill for it's prospects. LEPTraffic officers were sent on a rotation through every street in Haven, having to complete at least one circuit before being considered for other sections of the LEP, but Lili was always a special case, and had been kept from dangerous areas while she did her very brief stint. Her mental map of the city had been mostly filled out thereafter by nightclub encounters that led to offers to "come back to my place, have a cup of coffee, and listen to the new Cosmic Nomads album." For her to not recognize a street was a very bad sign.

Lili almost refused to park outside the complex, but reigned her fears in. The neighbors were...less than savory. A few goblins bore the concave-curved pentagon of the B'wa Kell Triad (no one had corrected them on the meaning of "triad" back when the logo was picked), and clustered around a quarter of the stairways. Buck demons with the crescent moon tattoo popular among the fiercer members of their species were also prominent, and seemed to deliberately take up places at stairways across the street from the milling goblins. No one was making any hostile moves, though. Not even a derisive call across the traffic.

Noting her reservations, Grub smiled, pulling out his tablet and showing off the street's crime statistics. Lili was surprised to see they were akin to Fowl's neighborhood, and that was in a fairly boring suburb of Haven.

"It's mostly older bucks and goblins with little kids. It's...a stalemate, here. Sacred ground, of a sort. I think the women keep them in check with various threats."

Lili didn't quite find that comforting. "So they just go elsewhere to kill each other."

"No," Grub muttered, but said no more in defense of the standoffish neighbors.

The apartment complex itself was forgettable, with white-painted corridors that could have used a new coat about a decade ago. The scents of each resident's cooking had melded in the halls, making the two elves wrinkle their noses as they followed the pixie landlord up three flights of stairs. Once they came to the last landing, having climbed three flights ("Elevator's broken. She's testy, but we get her fixed within a day or two of every breakdown, so move-in wont be an issue. Most likely."), Lili felt her heart rate kick up. There was an echo of danger in her brain as the landlord made some assurances about major repairs and the apartment being "like new" before Grub had to do any paperwork. Something was wrong in the air.

When the door was opened, she understood what had set off the alarms.

It looked like a large and very thorough bomb had gone off in the small apartment. The smell of ash, smoke damage, and burnt carpet made her step back. Fire had never been a prime enemy to elves like it was to dwarves, but such a disaster area was intimidating to anyone.

Grub also seemed on edge, but he mastered himself and followed the pixie inside, looking slowly around. He only dimly took in the smaller fairy's repeated promises about paperwork. Instead, he analyzed the space, frowning at the miniscule kitchen, though nodding in approval at the two small bedrooms. The baby would need more space, so he could squeeze into the other room. It would only really fit a twin bed and dresser, but Grub wasn't too worried about mattress size and accommodating a guest in his sleeping quarters. His chances were looking pretty grim, on that front.

"What happened here?" Lili finally asked, laying a steadying hand on the door-frame so she could lift her stiletto heels high above the rubble as she entered. "A volcano?" Her heel caught on the very tip of some rubble, making it collapse in a sudden black puff. She jumped away, rather agile for being on heels, and stared at the spontaneous destruction. "Or a nuke?"

"Close," the landlord said. "The B'wa Kell. The last tenant in here was a fire dancer with the Haven circus troop. A damned good one, too. Could light her entire body up, make shapes in the air, the whole shebang. She was only holed up in here until she got the down-payment together for a place in the city center." He shook his head, shoving hands into his pockets. "Then the Triad courted her for a captaincy."

Lili raised an eyebrow. "A female in the B'wa Kell? And a captain?"

The pixie snorted, shaking his head, the small movement of his long hair making nearby mounds of ash puff into the air. "Daft, even if she was good with fire. A pretty goblin girl like that? She was less likely to be on top of a dozen lieutenant and more likely to be _under_ a dozen, if you get my meaning."

Lili winced, all too familiar with the list of crimes laid against former B'wa Kell members. She found 'treason' to be the least troubling.

The landlord continued. "Well, I was going through all the proper avenues to get her evicted—illegal activities, after all, real bad for the neighborhood—and her cronies didn't take it kindly. Had the place ablaze and were about to move onto the neighbors when some of the Mooner bucks come in to calm things down in their own way."

Grub pursed his lips. "What do you mean, 'their own way'?"

"Er...not sure." The pixie rubbed at one ear, grinning maliciously. "Didn't ask."

Lili shot Grub an alarmed look. The face-off between the goblins and demons had begun within days of the return of the 8th family (with the dwarves having a small conniption, debating between the devil they knew and the demons they didn't). Seeing tattoos from both factions on the street was shocking, and now this story?

"So...doesn't this girl...this..."

"Scree. 'Captain' Scree."

"Doesn't she still rent this place?"

"After all this damage?" The pixie kicked at a wall, plasterboard crumbling in a minor explosion of white and black smoke, revealing the metal structure beneath. "Not a chance. She lost the appeals by not showing, and, if she does come back, the Mooners know her face. I'd imagine the Triad does, too."

"Well, the layout is good enough. Small kitchen aside." Grub took the few steps necessary to go between the two bedrooms and the postage-stamp sized shower cubicle. "No bathtub...that'll be difficult, when the baby gets older."

Lili turned to the landlord, giving him her brightest socialite smile, instantly bedazzling him and no doubt leading to a future late-night fantasy. "Could you excuse me for a moment? Thaaaaaaaanks, bye!" She shoved Grub into the shower, shutting the opaque door behind them.

Finding himself alone in the shower with Lili Frond, Grub jumped, backing up until his shoulders were jabbed by the nozzles, making him wince. He swallowed, trying to smile winningly. "Yes?"

"Are you _crazy_?" Lili hissed. "Even if this place wasn't a _sty_, it's a matchbox. Literally!"

"It'll be repaired before I rent," Grub patiently repeated the landlords words. "And my research shows this is a great investment. It's an up-and-coming neighborhood, with a lot of those demons and goblins out there leaving their gangs. With rent control, it'll be an amazing place to live in five to ten years."

"It's 'up-and-coming' because it can't fall any further _down._" Lili knew her wild gesticulations would be visible through the smoky glass, but apparently words weren't effective in communicating to Grub today, so flailing must be employed. "Ye gods, how long will repairs even _take?_"

Grub opened his mouth and, a split-second later, his brows lowered. He reached across Lili's body to open the shower door, popping his head out to address the pixie. "How long until it's ready?"

"I've got the best construction team in Haven for the job," The pixie crowed. "Friday four weeks from today!"

Lili leaned sideways, gifting the pixie with another smile. "Thanks. Just one more second." As she leaned back in, she yanked Grub with her, the door rattling ominously behind him, advancing a large crack at the top edge. "Oh. Four weeks. _That's _convenient."

"Actually, I was under the impression that it wasn't," Grub groused.

"I was being _sarcastic._"

"I know! I'm not an idiot!"

"You could have fooled me! How did you even get talked into looking at this tragedy?"

"Because it's what I can afford," Grub muttered, leaning against the wall, yelping as he jostled the knobs, releasing a splash of soot-clogged water onto his back before he scrambled to turn it off.

"That's a lie," Lili said, eyes narrowing, moving back to avoid any future sprays. "Holly had a place of her own as a captain, and it was small, but it wasn't a smokehouse."

Grub tried to pull his shirt around to brush off the ashes, but only succeeding in smearing them further and dirtying his fingers. He held them away from his body, grimacing. "Holly didn't have a baby, and the housing shortage wasn't nearly so bad when she got her place. No demons, yet."

Lili didn't bother to acknowledge the truth of his words. "Then what about your mother's place? She got over the pregnancy, right? And she has two extra rooms. She'd go crazy to have her grandchild under the same roof."

Grub bit his lip. "Yeah...she would, but..." He sighed, shaking his head. "That wouldn't really solve my problem."

"And the problem is..." Lili held out her hands, shaking them in a request for the answer. Wasn't it women who were supposed to dance around questions?

"I...need a place of my own," Grub began, a pink tinge to his cheeks. "A place to come home to at night. And..." Now he was definitely blushing, his face a brilliant red and his voice quite small and shaky. "A-a-a-a place where y-you could...join...me."

Lili blinked and looked around the shower. Even when it hadn't been through an inferno, she imagined this was no intimate cubicle, but a daily struggle to move about in. "Grub...this place is horrible."

"But it would be _mine_," Grub protested, leaning forward for an instant, going back when Lili edged away from his advance. He looked at the quarter-inch of ash on the linoleum. "I...didn't think you'd really want to, but...it would mean that, when I came home, I wouldn't be coming home to...anyone." He coughed, rubbing at the back of his neck, wincing as he remembered the ash. Sighing in defeat, he rubbed his hand on the side of his work trousers, leaving a smudge on the dark material. "Unless...you wanted to be here when I came back."

Lili blinked. "I am _so _not moving in here."

Grub laughed. "I reeeeeally didn't expect you to." He sighed, rubbing his other sooty hand on his pants, then held them out from his body, waiting in the air between the two elves. "But...I was sort of hoping...you'd come by on move-in day. Have dinner with me. And..." He swallowed. "And...not go back up the Hill that night."

Lili breathed in sharply. "Are...you...serious?"

Grub nodded.

"You...want to sleep with me?"

If possible, he turned even redder. "Uh...huh."

"...in four weeks."

Grub wilted. He began to babble. "Look, I know that's a long time, but it's the best I can do, and you're right and I really think it's a bad idea for me to go back to...my other place if we do...something together, and I'm _really sorry_, but I don't _want _to have dreams like that, and I think moving away will stop them, and I've already had one dream about you, and that's a good start, and I'll get more batteries and—"

Lili crushed her lips to Grub's to get him to shut up.

When she pulled away many seconds later, he was grinning like an idiot. "Lili?"

She took his hands and then took a deep breath. She nodded. "Yes." Lili smiled and laughed. "Okay! Oh, _gods,_ I don't know _why_ I'm even agreeing to this, but yes!"

Shaking with small hysterical laughs, Grub wrapped his arms around Lili, tucking his head into her neck and breathing in her clean chocolate-and-raspberry scent. "Thank you...thank you...I'm so sorry. Thank you..."

"Just...one thing," Lili said, pulling back, though she did not leave his arms.

Grub's blush began to fade quite quickly as he approached a pallor. He was accustomed to extra conditions making his life a living hell, and he wasn't sure if he could sidestep any without ruining everything. "Y-yes?"

"You've had a dream about me?" Lili asked, smirking.

The blush came back. Grub looked as if he wasn't sure if he should be ashamed or not. "Uh...yeah."

"A sex dream?"

"Yyyyyyes?" He whimpered.

She considered this. "Before or after we began dating?"

He winced. "Um...before." He felt suddenly sleazy, which was something with which he was not accustomed.

"Oh." She thought for a moment. "Was it any good?"

"I woke up before I finished," Grub said without thinking. He took one arm from Lili's waist and slapped his hand over his mouth. Ruined. Everything, ruined.

Laughing, Lili peeled his hand away, kissing him again. When they stopped, she winked at him and purred. "I feel sort of bad...but I guarantee, that wont happen again."

He beamed. "Really?" When Lili nodded and winked, he did a rather coordinated turn, moving her back towards the taps (luckily not triggering them) and opened the shower door.

The landlord looked at them with great interest. Knowing Frond's reputation, he was likely wondering if they were shagging while he waited.

Still grinning, Grub asked the big question. "Where's the application?"

When the pixie dashed off to get the paperwork, unable to believe that he had managed to convince someone to wait in line for this heap, Lili looked at Grub quizzically. Believing every major question had just been answered, Grub copied her expression. "What?"

Lili reached around his side, tapping the man's back. "Swear toad orgy?"

Grub blinked. "Um...oh! No. Ejaculating unicorn."

"Oh, that's new!" Lili narrowed her eyes, smiling slyly. "Can I see?"

"That...would require me taking my shirt off."

"..."

"...no."

"D'arvit!"

* * *

Vinyáya was a bit put-off when Grub didn't arrive home a half-hour after her, as he normally did. The supply of leftovers was depleted after his weekend-long disappearance. As time dragged by, she eventually gave in to the demands of nature, ordering in from her favorite Chinese place. The food seemed oddly bland, and she only ate a quarter of it before shoving the containers into the fridge with a disgusted grunt.

Frustrated by the culinary failure, she went to the living room and fired up her latest game, wanting to distract herself from her long day in the office. Short had gone out on a Section 8 mission without consulting her. It was official. She wasn't on leave, but she was off combat duty for the duration of the pregnancy. And if she couldn't bust some heads in real life, she would have to do so in a digital environment, lest things become mighty unpleasant around here.

Grub appeared midway through a one of those stupid escort missions (really, when the Council finally approved her request to make a zombie apocalypse battle-plan, she would be making sure every Haven citizen knew to get moving and not tax the troops with rescuing them from their own moronic holing-up instincts), and Vinyáya did him the courtesy of pausing the game, pulling the headset down to her shoulders to talk.

"You're in late," she said, and then berated herself. It sounded far too accusing for a tenant-landlord relationship. He could go out and get trashed as he mourned his lost relationship if he so chose, so long as the rent was on time and the house stayed clean.

"Oh, yeah." Grub wouldn't look at her as he moved about in the hallway, taking off his messenger bag and kicking off his shoes. "Lili and I lost track of time."

Vinyáya blinked. "Lili?" She looked away quickly. There had been no need to repeat him. Stupid.

"Yeah," he said again, trying to sound light and cheery. "We saw _Amber Moon_ again—Ratliff really does well as Diggums, you should go see it—and then we had dinner at this curry place near..." He coughed, walking past the doorway to the living room, heading to his bedroom. "Near my new apartment."

"Oh," Vinyáya said softly. "You're...moving. Congratulations. About time, huh?" She looked down at the controller, brushing her thumb along the buttons.

"Uh huh. Thanks. Hey, I'm wiped. You got dinner sorted yourself?"

She nodded. Then, remembering that Grub couldn't see her, she said, "Yes.

"Cool. I should have something ready for tomorrow's dinner, no problem. 'Night."

"'Night," the woman wished back. When she heard the bedroom door closed, she waved her hand at the television, the camera mounted within the screen catching the gesture and muting the volume from the television itself, sending everything to her headset. She put it back on slowly, wriggling the ear-buds until they expanded to fill her ear canals, blocking all outside sound and allowing her to take advantage of the 3D positional audio processing, and then adjusted the volume for a quieter assault.

Everything went wrong when she began the game again. Hordes of the undead came from every trail of the Amazon forest, and she watched as first her troops were set upon and disappeared, and then her charge, and then the camera zoomed out to show her avatar being torn limb from limb, its screams filling her ears.

A spray of blood hit the screen, oozing down until the words "Game Over" glowed at her in red and brain-gray.

She snapped her hand at the television, turning off screen and console in one gesture. Then Vinyáya sat in the dark for a moment before putting down the controller and removing her headset, tossing it onto the couch.

Tentatively, she spread her fingers across her stomach, feeling the tautness and fluttery movements beneath. It...her son was winding down. The spicy chicken had made him react quite a bit more than she expected, but now he was slowing. She would probably get a few hours that night where they both slept. That was a blessing.

She gritted her teeth as she used the couch to help her stand, legs wobbly from sitting too long. Down the hall she went, footsteps faltering a moment at Grub's door. Then she was past it, and at her own door, opening it and flicking on the light.

Vinyáya stared at her bed. It had never looked quite so...large before.

She shook her head.

Her dream had lied to her.

Of course he would leave. She had given him ever reason to do so.

* * *

**Preview: "I know it isn't right,/ but still I have to fight./ I have to let you know./ I don't wanna let you go."**

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**Fun fact: intense nightmares are one possible pregnancy symptom. Whee! Aren't you just terribly excited to experience that?**

**And I am generally dissatisfied with the new book. It's sad, but kinda happy, as I finally had a moment where I thought my writing was not only better than some published authors, but, at least for this book, better than Colfer's. Please, do not break my self-delusion. I need it for Nano this November.**

**So, review, and dont forget to PRIVATE MESSAGE me with your VOTES in the "Big Reveal" contest! All votes due by the 10th!**


	33. Even If It's a Hundred Years

**Whee! I've got the typing done up to chapter 37! Expect a nice sequence of updates!**

**Also, if anyone hasn't seen the note in "Fallen," voting on the Big Reveal Contest has been extended to August 29****th****. DO IT! I've only got four peoples' votes in! That's fewer people than actually entered the contest! Authors can vote, too! Don't make me come down there!**

* * *

**Song: "I Don't Want To Let You Go" by Weezer**

* * *

**Chapter 33: Even If It's A Hundred Years**

**Week 28**

"_And watch out for that one," Corporal Vein muttered, jerking his chin in the direction of a passing female elf. "She may look all cute, but she will get you demoted to Traffic so fast, it's not even funny."_

_ Vein's fellow sprite—an old roommate from the Academy, finally passed into the ranks of the LEP—craned his head to follow the she-elf's progress down the hall. She was flanked by a rapidly-speaking gnome, and was giving him curt answers, as if they should have been obvious. Her hair was long and he found it's every flick instantly hypnotizing. An almost...unbelievable red..._

_ Then he caught the hint of silver at the roots. A dye-job. He scowled, trying to assess the elf. The true hair color and her body just didn't match. "How old is she?"_

_ Vein laughed. "Not too young, not too old. Five-twenty-three." At his new comrade's puzzled expression, he leaned in close, though not bothering to whisper. In fact, speaking far louder than was really necessary. "She's supposed to be a bit...mixed-up, you know?"_

_ From near the end of the hall, the woman's ears twitched and her head whipped about, red hair blossoming like a flame. Her glare was dangerous, dissecting the two sprites in an instant, and finding their component parts less than pleasing._

_ Nervously, the new officer raised a hand and waved. After a moment, he grinned and waved more enthusiastically._

_ The woman's eyes narrow further. With a dismissive huff, she turned and continued down the hall at double-speed, her attendant jogging to keep up._

* * *

Vinyáya did not wake up screaming. She must have been laying improperly as she slept, putting some sort of kink in her airways. Her vision warbled for a few seconds before solidifying and being replaced by a dull headache.

She sat up, cradling her temples, and managed to suppress most of a moan. It was less over the pain, and more over the dream. Or perhaps "dream" was the wrong word. A memory. Either way, this was the second time in as many weeks that her subconscious had done this. Perhaps it was a pregnancy symptom? She briefly considered asking her tenant at breakfast. He would surely know, but he also might want to know the contents of the dreams, and that was just not acceptable.

She reached blindly behind her, to the side of the bed, and picked up her alarm clock, bringing it close to her face for inspection. The red glowing numbers mocked her. Fifteen minutes before the alarm would go off. Not long enough to go back to sleep and savor those few minutes, but early enough to make her feel less than rested, though she had been having increased difficulties with that for the past several weeks, in general.

Grumbling, she decided it was best to get out of bed. She could have used the extra Z's, but she could also take some time going over the day's strategy meeting. Things were coming to a head, and she needed to be at that head.

* * *

"Okay, Team Red. Who do you have on the roster?"

Holly, leaning back in her chair, her feet on the conference table and bouncing to some unheard beat, looked down at her list, even though she knew the team by heart. "Myself, of course. Backup is Vein. Flank officers are Judas and Paprika. Then Green, Lucas, Alder, Frederick, and Lingon."

Vinyáya took a few moments to consider the crew. She frowned at Vein, as most women did, but made no objections, eventually nodding her approval. "Excellent. Blue team?"

Trouble took the tablet from Holly, earning a little glare from Vinyáya for not bringing his own equipment, and switched to his readout. "Myself, backup as Terragon. Flank Yasmin and Rowan. Marksmen Evons, Watercress, Carmichael, and Sadie."

"Not Watercress," Vinyáya said firmly, "he's been undergoing psychological treatment since the B'wa Kell Rebellion. Half and half, he'll go into a breakdown if a bunch of goblins are coming at him, even if he's got a working gun. Someone a bit more stable."

Trouble rolled his eyes. He'd gone through practically every officer in Recon and Retrieval to make a good team for this raid. His job was being made doubly difficult with Holly heading the physical attack, and him in the crew that would be waiting outside the warehouse. By all rights, he should have been the one starting the operation, but she had refused to be involved unless she got the maximum possible adrenalin kick. He really needed to give her more topside missions; having her own little bit of the surface in bed with her wasn't doing much, anymore.

So, as the linchpin of the operation, Holly got first pick, and Trouble looked to the remainders. Who...who...who...

On the side of Trouble that Holly did not occupy, Lili smirked. "Captain Kelp?"

"Let's also go with _competent_," Vinyáya sneered, flipping through the latest results from the firing range. "At least for the front lines. Or are you trying to kill off your suitor?" She ignored Lili's scowl, finally alighting on a top-ranking name. "Halberd. He's that new demon captain, right? Not one of the Mooners, is he?"

"Nope. Has a goblin wife, actually." Trouble shook his head. "Not sure if it will work, but I'll ask him. Her family doesn't seem to be involved in the Triad, but you never know. He might have some problems stunning goblins."

"Well, either way, run him through a few mixed-family sims, and check his reaction times. We need to know if any of our officers will hesitate unduly for any fairy family."

"Will-do, Wing Commander."

"Right." Briskly, Vinyáya moved onto the other teams, tearing them apart with brutal efficiency. The commanders were generally aware of her demands for operations such as this, but the woman was far more strict on the details than even the eldest of the leaders, Commander Verres. She had seen far too many fairies killed in action to allow even the smallest glitch to go by without protest.

Not everyone was feeling generous about her inspection. "She's a bit testy," Trouble whispered sideways to Lili, leaning towards the woman so she could hear him better.

"She's just bitter," Lili said, a twitch in her lips. She shifted closer, turning her head so she could whisper directly in Trouble's ear. "Grub is moving out."

Trouble whipped his head about, a spark of lightning going down his back as his nose brushed alongside Lili's just before she backed away to give them extra space. "I didn't know that. How did _you_ know that?"

She blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her pointy ears. "I took him to the complex and went on the tour with him. It's a dump, but he seems happy."

"Really?" Trouble scowled. "You went with him?"

"Yeah. I'll be helping him move. A few weeks from now, but better later than never, huh?" She laughed uncertainly. "He, uh...hasn't told you?"

"Not a word," Trouble furrowed his brows. "I'd expect at least a text or something."

"Maybe he wants to tell you in person," Lili said, suddenly worried she had spilled a secret, but Grub hadn't told her to hold off. "Or...maybe I just kept distracting him this weekend." She shut her mouth suddenly. The words had come out all wrong.

Again, the commander's head snapped about, eyes wide in panic. "You two...?"

Lili's nose scrunched up as she laughed, trying to dispel her tension. "We had a _talk_. A long talk. A...few long talks, really."

"Some yelling, I hope," Trouble growled.

"Stop it," Lili chastised, elbowing the male in his ribs. "I can take care of myself just fine. And I think we worked everything out. He agreed he needs to move out. I agreed to be patient, until he's got his own place." No sense telling the man what she was being patient for. As much as she trusted Trouble to not go postal on his little brother, she imagined he didn't want to hear about Grub's sexual future. Everyone in the Lower Elements had already learned far too much about the boy's past.

"Lili...look, this is none of my business, I know, but..." Trouble took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just...I probably shouldn't say this, with everything that's going on, but—"

"NOW, Frond," Vinyáya snapped, making both of the chatting elves jump several inches out of their chairs. She stabbed the tip of her stylus into the desk as she glared a hole through Lili. "Your team? Or are you just going to cobble together the booking officers on the day of?"

Before Trouble could try again (if he had possessed the courage to do so, which he did not), Lili pulled away, taking out her own tablet. At least she didn't have communal equipment with Holly and Trouble to spark more of the Wing Commander's ire. Pulling up her records, she read off the names. "Gilroy, Barrow, Jenkins, Ulfred, Kinsey, and Marrow." She paused, putting her tablet down. "Plus myself. And Captain Kelp, of course."

"No, find a replacement for Kelp," Vinyáya ordered swiftly, though her tone didn't have any emotional inflection to match the speed.

Lili flared. "What? Find a...he's the best office worker we've got! If you want us to process anything in a reasonable time—and by that, I mean _before_ you go into labor—I need Kelp to help with booking!"

"And if you _listened_," Vinyáya snapped back, pulling up the already submitted rosters, "you'd know that Commander Verres chose him as a Traffic officer for the raid. Hmph...at least it isn't the front lines... Pick someone else, _Lieutenant_."

Lili stared at the text documents, which were being displayed on a rotating hologram, giving everyone a chance to go over the officers and give their objections. There, right below the commander of LEPTraffic, was one "Cptn. Kelp," along with a dozen other officers in squad cars and on magna-bikes. He seemed to have been assigned to a single patrol, which meant he would be doing bike-work.

The world seemed to go out of focus and stretch for a few heartbeats, with the only clear part of Lili's vision focusing on Grub's name. Field work? He was going into _combat?_ Not that she had any worries about him being truly hurt in the action. The real danger would be faced by Holly and her team, and Traffic was merely there to catch the few goblins that might get through Trouble and Qwan's nets. If anyone needed to be worried, it was Verres, and his poor, structurally unsound desk. It would never survive the formal complaints.

She considered protesting, demanding that Grub be given to her squad. It was where he would best serve the People. He would take on about a third of the workload, all on his own. Processing the new prisoners would take hours after a raid of this size, and she wanted the best team she could get to help finish up. She was already looking at a double shift, if things went on schedule. And _nothing_ is on schedule, when it comes to government work.

After a minute, Lili scowled and looked at her roster. "I...um...I'm gonna need an additional officer, if I can't have Kelp. Bracken and Barley, I think."

"Just one more? Huh." Vinyáya made a note on her copy of the document and finalized the change. "Okay. That's the day-of team. Now, we raid on Wednesday, if all goes according to schedule. And, if the schedule goes off, it had _better_ be because the goblins have had a change of plans, not because any of you or your officers are being procrastinators! We need to make sure there's also a few officers set aside for the weekend, to go through any critical leads we have that haven't been looked into by the end of work on Friday. If that means some of the new recruits need to stay and work overtime, so be it. But I want you to look at any officer with less than full-time hours _first_. No sense sending exhausted people into the field to mess things up. I'll make sure we have a judge or two in line to get warrants for forensics to search residences, if things look iffy, as well."

There was an extended silence as Vinyáya looked about, raising an eyebrow. "Well? Questions?"

There were a few. Mostly dealing with the Ops Booth team ("Well, of _course_ Fowl and Foaly are going to be giving technical support. We've got Short going in, don't we? Those two wont leave her alone.") and hazard pay. When the last stupid question were asked (and the last few were rather stupid, one of particular interest from a dwarf that was curious about the lunch selections mid-raid, and if he could get out, because it was "mystery meat" day at the cafeteria), Lili considered rushing to Verres and begging him to pass on Grub, and give him to the team that really needed him. Surely there was a more promising officer than Grub-fricking-Kelp. But she held back, biting her lip as the Traffic Commander left the room.

Trouble came up to her side and paused. "Well."

Another long silence.

Trouble grinned, a bit more maliciously than any big brother should. "Holy shit. I hope someone gets Grub's reaction on camera."

Despite her loyalties, Lili concurred

* * *

An inter-office memo was sent to Captain Kelp within minutes of the strategy meeting's conclusion. At first, he was inclined to ignore the arrival beep, being in the middle of a particularly puzzling bit of data finding for the Ops Booth team, and having already tuned out a half-dozen other requests for help on the paperwork front. More work. Superb. Just what he had always wanted.

Then he saw the red-for-urgent tag on the message and felt his interest perk. No one used urgent designation for him, unless it really was urgent. He'd gone on extended tirades about this subject before, and had pretty much cowed the other officers into submission. Or at least annoyed them so much that they complied.

He clicked to open the memo.

Immediately, a yellow-tinged window popped up.

_Clearance level 'Kindred' only. Please secure terminal and office before entering password._

Grub stared at the screen. Clearance? He'd never been given documents that required clearance before. Even on the Fowl case, he'd received all of his orders directly from his CO. 'Kindred' wasn't particularly high (the only lower level was 'Source,' and gods knew what levels were above Grub that he didn't know about), but the newly cleared captain felt a sudden surge of adrenalin. Pleasant adrenalin, in fact. He felt very...James Bond. Very...badass.

He tried to act nonchalant, leaning back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at the office door. Then casting about the office. Leaning back even more, he glanced down the long lines of his body, inspecting under the desk.

Finding no clever ninjas in wait, he sprang forward, pounding his password out on the keyboard, the racket so loud his ears twitched in tiny protest. There was a brief pause as the databases double-checked and then triple-checked his clearance, during which the mouse icon was replaced with a line of traveling hoof-prints

Then the file opened, and Grub's eyes flashed back and forth as he read, face lit with the backglow of the screen. It was a standard set of orders. In the top left, there was the standard LEP shield, with the silhouette of a wheel in the middle to designate Traffic as the originator. He raised his eyebrows at this. He had technically been in Retrieval for decades. The office squad, yes, but the _Retrieval_ office squad.

Then he read the memo.

Seconds later, he crashed out of his office. "Trubs! TRUBS, you've gotta help OOF!"

Grub staggered back a step before falling directly and painfully on his tailbone, making him yelp, tears springing to his eyes.

"Careful, my boy," a jovial, grandfatherly voice said.

Grub looked up. Based on his reaction, one would have assumed he was suddenly faced with the Devil himself, in full demon aspect. "C-C-C-Commander Verres! I can't—"

"In your office, Captain. If you please." The sprite gestured at the door, tapping it with the end of his cane.

Grub scrambled to his feet, though he first shot back several feet as he failed to get his center of gravity underneath himself. When he was up, he jumped at the office door, slamming into it and making the nearby boarded-up windows rattle. His hands were sweaty, and they slipped on the doorknob for a full ten seconds before he rubbed them on his pants and used his shirt to grip the metal. Once the door was open, he nearly fell inside, spinning to face Verres, who walked in sedately, closing the door behind.

"Sir!" Grub yelped, holding his hands out in supplication. "You do _not_ want me."

Verres raised his entire brow, looking for all the world like a dapper English gentleman that was about to lose his grip on his monocle. He soon smirked, wondering how often the young elf had made that argument with his romantic partners. Perhaps it made the women obstinate and insistent, rather than snapping them to their senses? "Really? Normally, Traffic is honored to have a Retrieval officer in a squad. And a captain? I can't recall an instance, and I've been on a good many missions." This was wild understatement. Verres refused to give his age, but by all accounts he was in his tenth century. His hair had thinned long ago, and was buzzed down regularly to remove the temptation to try a comb-over. He had spent a good many years riding the streets, and had one long scar on the left side of his face to prove it, along with a limp that required he use an azurite-topped walking stick whenever climbing a good number of stairs.

"I-hi-hi-hi-hiiiii..." Grub laughed, trying to look amused, but soon giving up, his face falling to blankness. "I'm the worst field officer ever."

"I am well aware, Captain," Verres said with a smile. It was good to see the young elf finally admitting it, after those years spent regaling the world with tales of his face-off with Butler. Before the bodyguard had been designated a friend to the People, he described the Mud Man as a twelve foot tall, razor-toothed, cannibalistic, and practically radioactive. "I find myself in dire straits, to be honest."

"Dire...what?"

The commander iggnored the confusion. It was best he move through this quickly. The boy would catch up eventually. "What did you aspire to when you entered the Academy, Captain?"

Grub blinked, derailed. "Um...Retrieval One."

Verres smiled fondly. "Like your father and brother, yes. What about Short?"

"Um...LEPMarine, as a doctor, at first. Like her mother. Recon, after her first year."

"Miss Frond?"

"LEP...LEPRecon, too, I think."

"Pie-in-the-sky aspiration. Her backup was one of the surface containment squads. The telekinetics, if her Frond genetics ever kicked in. What about your roommate?"

"Retrieval, but what does that have to do with me joining the Wheelies! Or with me getting fried to cinders by a dozen goblins!"

"Stop being so over-dramatic," Verres ordered, momentarily losing the grandfatherly aspect. Then he was becalmed, sighing.

"No one aspires to Traffic." Verres shrugged, showing he was not so much insulted by the young officers as disappointed in them. "To be honest, I originally wanted to be on Kraken Watch, but after my first high-speed chase...well, that was fare more interesting than Old Shelly.

"...huh?" Grub said intelligently.

"Traffic is an...obligation, to most officers. Something between them and the 'real work' of the LEP." He shook his head. "Thus, I find myself with a deficit of...just about everything but the young and stupid, really."

"And...what?" Grub said, his attempt at a good question quickly bringing him to a vast space of mental wasteland. Perhaps if he had not just read his top-secret message, he would be able to comprehend the commander's musings, but that was a bit doubtful. The only thing he could focus on was how flammable hair was, and how his mummy was right about needing to get it cut. _Before_ he ran aflame down the streets of Haven, looking like and screaming like a girl.

"Commanding officers, Kelp. Traffic gets every new, grand-standing Academy graduate, and someone needs to be there to organize their patrols, check their reports, and bring them to task when they do something wrong. People to make my job easier. And I think _you_ would be a valuable addition to the team."

Grub stumbled through one pertinent fact, and then another. "But...the raid? And...organizing patrols? Like...subordinates?" He perked up at this idea. Then shrunk again as he thought of his inherent combustibility.

"Well, I can't just pull you from Retrieval with no explanation. So joining the Wheelies this once would be a sort of...trial run, I suppose."

Grub scowled. "And..._why_ would I want to leave Retrieval?" Where his brother looked out for him? And no one had tried to kabob him for over a dozen years?

"Hmmm...you see, as the large majority of my officers are fresh from the Academy, they come in at the lowest tier of the pay scale. So I have a small...a _small_ budget surplus." Verres nodded in approval as Grub caught on and stood a fraction taller. "Retrieval has always been a bit more strapped on the budget issue, with all the equipment and containment. If you switch to Traffic, I can offer you an immediate raise of say...7.5 percent, plus the standard salary review after your 6 month trial period. If your work under me is as good as that under retrieval, I'd say you would qualify for the top raise then, and for quite some time afterward."

Grub did quick mental math. Overall, that would be an increase of about twelve percent, and it would come very soon after the birth. For a single father, it was one hell of an increase.

Still, he waited, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Not to see if there was a better officer; one little ride, and he would have enough extra dough for a generous car payment (and he would need a car, what with an infant to tote about). He knew his hesitations were irrational, but...he _was_ an elf. An emotional creature. And Retrieval...

"...Captain," Verres said carefully. He knew well enough what was flashing in the man's head. His old hand shook just a fraction as he lay it on Grub's shoulder. "Your brother...is a fine Commander. Your father would have made one as well, if...well, if. And you have shown much improvement in these last months, if all the talk about the Plaza is true." He squeezed gently. "There is no shame in doing what you do best...even if it brings no 'glory.' Retrieval will keep you, certainly, but...Traffic would welcome you."

He patted Grub's shoulder one last time before taking his hand away, leaving it between them. "Think on it. And, either way...ride with us."

Not a command. Not a question. An invitation. And almost tentative.

Minutely, Grub nodded. He pulled himself together and slapped his hand to Verres's, shaking it strongly. His voice barely shook as he answered. "Y-yes, Commander. It would be...an honor."

He was going to _die._

* * *

"Woah," Lili said around a mouthful of buckwheat noodles. "I mean, I was in the meeting when Verres requested you, but...woah. You _agreed_?"

Grub shrugged, poking about in his own broth for the bits of seafood that flavored the dish. About them, the restaurant—an emulation of a variety of Asian cuisines from the surface, specializing in noodle and rice dishes—was filled with the low buzz of conversation, allowing them the necessary muddle of sound to freely discuss the operation. "I'm not sure I had a choice. I'm not on the injured list, so I've sort of got to go into the field if asked. Just no one has bothered in a decade." He frowned until he came across a tiny clam shell, which had opened in the process of cooking, revealing a bit of pink meat. He expertly grasped it in the chopsticks and popped it into his mouth, tonguing the meat free before picking the shell out again and laying it on the side of the bowl, looking quite content as he chewed.

"So..._would_ you join Traffic?"

Grub tapped the side of his bowl several times, keeping it up as he spoke, though the cadence of his words and the tempo of his taps had nothing in common. "Well, my day-to-day wont change much," he said. "Just _whose_ paperwork I'm doing. I guess I'd have some subordinates to order around." He grinned maliciously at the idea. "And I already help with some of the Traffic overflow, so I wont need much special training."

"Except getting used to a magna-bike and gun again," Lili pointed out.

"Yeah," he grumbled, darkening. "I'm a bit out of practice...do you think you could...?"

He petered off at Lili's own sullen rooting in her broth, and recalled why this was such a horrid thing to say. There had always been rumors about her test scores being falsified back in the Academy, but her mediocrity was mostly accurate. Except for biking. It had taken the woman weeks to go more than a quarter-mile without crashing in a spectacular fashion, and she never managed to get through an obstacle course without knocking over half of the penalty cones. The one time she had managed to get her gun out and shoot before she crashed, the instructor had been in physical therapy for an entire season, following the Rube Goldberg machine of friendly fire incidents. In the end, her father had given a good-sized donation to the LEP to have her car driving skills doubled, the extra replacing biking. There were still many magna-bikes in the LEP array that sported dents from her failures.

"You could always ask Vinyáya for help," Lili muttered.

Grub laughed dismissively. When Lili only stabbed at a prawn, rather than joining him and becoming her bright self again, he sighed.

Reaching across the table with his chopsticks, he pinched Lili's pouting lower lip, dragging her halfway across the table, where he met her with his own mouth. She was initially outraged at the treatment, but her prickliness soon smoothed into normal welcoming curves, letting their lips and tongues slip together, forming layers sweeter than anything Grub could make in the kitchen.

When they broke apart, Grub poked the blunt ends of his chopsticks on Lili's forehead, and they both smiled. "I can do this," he proclaimed with false grandeur, sitting back and sitting tall.

"I'm sure you can," Lili said with a wink that made Grub blush and grin in a lunatic fashion. While he was distracted, she dove her chopsticks into the man's noodles, coming up with a large shrimp.

"Hey!" Grub used his sticks to reach for the shellfish, but was blocked when Lili used her own utensils for an artful parry.

"Haha! It is mine! My father made me take fencing in high school! You shall never get it back!"

"Ah...if you have the art, then I'll just have to...fight dirty!" Grub picked up a noodle and tossed it at Lili's face.

She shrieked, raising one hand to keep the sopping noodle from impacting with her carefully applied makeup. When the danger had passed, she glared across at Grub, who had reclaimed his prize and was waving it triumphantly in her face. She pouted.

"Aw..." Grub crooned. "You are _cute_ when you don't get your way."

The pout intensified.

Magnanimously, Grub held out his chopsticks, presenting the shrimp a few inches from Lili's lips. When she only looked down her nose at the tidbit, he let it bob, enticing her. "For the lovely one?"

Lili met Grub's eyes and smirked. There was really no sense in refusing the gift when he said it so aptly.

Lili slowly licked and parted her lips, mouth opening just wide enough to slide over the proffered treat, and then closed back down, wrapping gently about the enameled and decorated sticks. She made sure to keep her eyes on Grub's—his widening exactly as much as hers lidded—as she moaned in appreciation, dragging her lips incrementally off, leaving a thin line of pink lip gloss where she had been. She chewed slowly, eyes close as she let out another groan before swallowing and once again licking her lips.

When she opened her eyes, Grub was gaping at her, a flush rising to his cheeks as part of him realized that some of the surrounding customers had probably seen that little display. His chopsticks now drooped in what Lili suspected was a complete inverse of certain parts of his anatomy.

"I was wondering, Grub...this 'until the move' thing...does it apply to—"

She mouthed the last word. Based on Grub's whimper, it was obvious that he had worked the shapes out, even though he could not read lips.

Despite the fact that the letters "J," "O," "B," and "S" ended that sentence, the subject had nothing to do with their previous discussion on employment prospects.

Grub considered the question _very_ seriously before he decided that, yes, it did apply to...those.

Lili shrugged. Then attacked Grub's meal again, this time stealing a scallop and popping it into her mouth before he had time to so much as blink.

This was too damned easy.

* * *

**Preview: "Somewhere after midnight/ in my wildest fantasy,/ somewhere just beyond my reach/ there's someone reaching back for me./ Racing on the thunder/ and rising with the heat./ It's gonna take a Superman/ to sweep me off my feet!"**

**

* * *

New poll up! "Have your allegiances changed, in regards to whom Grub should end up with by the end of "In Another's Eyes"?" Go! Vote! On my profile page, not in reviews, but reviews are nom-able.**


	34. A White Knight Upon a Fiery Steed?

**Song: "I Need a Hero" by Bonnie Tyler**

**And don't you dare consider it to be the Frou Frou version. That one is sacrilege**

* * *

**Chapter 34: A White Knight Upon a Fiery Steed?**

**Week 29:**

"_This spot taken?"_

_ Viny__á__ya looked up from her book to find one of the damned Traffic sprites sitting down across from her. He was quickly taking the items off his lunch try, perhaps hoping that the arraying of food would help entrench him in hostile territory._

_ "I suppose it is now," she conceded, going back to her book._

_ "Sweet!" The sprite began to eat heartily, though quietly. He didn't even go through the standard questions about what she was reading, which would have, of course, forced her to stop reading and explain about the lost Eighth Fairy Family at the exact last moment when she would want to do so. Things were becoming too tense, with the Section Eight missions going twice as often over the past few years as in her first three hundred years heading the organization. She was even considering taking on extra staff, if the Council agreed._

_ After a few minutes of the communal silence, Viny__á__ya surreptitiously looked about the cafeteria, frowning. There were plenty of seats available. In fact, a few were open next to Manfred Kelp and Julius Root, the two fairies vying for the position as next commander of Recon and Retrieval. Shouldn't this newcomer be sidling up to them for the favors they could give once the promotions were settled upon?_

_ "Ah..." the new officer said as he licked the last sandwich juices from his fingers. He looked across at Viny__á__ya, smirking. "Well..."_

_ She eased in some aspects, tensing in others. _Here it comes_, she thought, bringing up her mental defenses. He was merely making sure he didn't make an ass of himself on an empty stomach._

_ "Pleasure sitting with you. Gotta head out." Giving a casual salute for the casual setting, the corporal stood, gathered his empty food containers, and was gone from the table in scant instants._

_ Viny__á__ya looked across at his empty seat, blinking. She sat up straighter, casting around to follow his retreat, continuing to stare at the cafeteria doors long after he was gone._

_ "What in the world?"_

* * *

She awoke groaning. Her back felt like someone was pushing their fists into it, with no thought to how it would rearrange her basic bodily structure. Another pair of fists had somehow managed to thrust past her skin, and were now clutching at her kidneys. Or perhaps those were her ovaries. It made a bit more sense, with the hormonal complications that had been hitting her of late, to be the latter.

When Vinyáya sat up, her head was swimming. A second later, the rush of blood made her brain throb, her eyes seeming to expand in their sockets. For a few seconds, she was sure that darkness would overtake her, and she would fall back to the bed and proceed to be unconscious for the next few minutes. Which would be kind of nice. Instead, the dizziness abated, though her eyes still felt uncomfortably large. With an extended moan of pain, she stood, letting another surge of blood attack her, and began readying herself for the day.

Despite herself, Vinyáya found that she was glad Holly would be taking on the point position of the big raid next week. Overall, she wasn't as skilled an officer as her senior, but Major Short had all the skills necessary to make the mission a success, minus the minor complication of a stomach roughly the size of North Dakota. The Wing Commander found herself baring her teeth viciously at the idea of Short having to deal with her own future gestational quarantine. Perhaps it was time to prod that Fowl boy into making some moves in that direction, just for a little revenge.

Shaking her head, Vinyáya began moving a bit faster. There was a lot to be done, if everything was to go off with minimal hitches, and that meant long, boring hours going over every report on the goblins and their allies from the last few weeks, in the off chance some little scrap of information could reveal a new, more advantageous course of action. Soon, though. Soon she could just...let go.

* * *

"D'arvit!" Grub brought his borrowed magna-bike to a stop, doing so a bit faster than was really desirable, with the result that he jolted forward a few inches, stomach thumping into the handlebars. His breath went half out, along with a little wince, and he paused, almost thrown off the front of the bike, and looked down. He felt a little chill run down the back of his neck. A few more miles per hour, and the head tube would have made quite sure that he was not going to be fathering any more children. And that, he decided, would be a travesty.

He'd arrived early to work on his driving, as he had since Verres waved the offer of a raise in front of his nose, so Grub didn't feel the need to look around the large underground practice arena before he dismounted the bike and kicked the stand out. No one else was about to tease him on his technique.

Taking a few steps back, he held his hands out flat, urging the bike to stay as it leaned over onto the triangular brace. He never expected that flimsy-looking bit of metal to hold up such a massive piece of equipment, but he hadn't had any embarrassing tumbles, yet. So, finding his ride was secure, he trotted back down his path, eyes scanning the ground until he came across the opaque Nimbus 3000, sporting quite a few scratches as it lay on the asphalt.

He leaned over to swipe it up with a disgusted grunt, immediately turning back toward his ride. This entire thing was ridiculous He was going to get himself killed. The last time Grub Kelp had been in action, he'd spent the majority of the time cowering behind his big brother. Admittedly, doing sweeps on a bike wasn't what most officers would consider action (after all, he was tasked with stunning from afar those perps that managed to get past the rather thick main defenses, not go into direct combat with anyone), but it was about 100% closer to the action than he would have preferred. For the past two weeks, he had been fervently cursing the name of Verres and his entire squadron, raise be damned.

It didn't help that he couldn't keep his grip on the gun, much less shoot it. Individually, he could do these tasks rather well. Riding through various obstacles? No problem, so long as he wasn't having to do any jumps. His street route for the raid was perfectly clear, so that wouldn't be an issue. Shooting? Not bad, though Short still laughed until she cried whenever she saw him in the range. Riding a magna-bike while shooting...accurately..._without_ dropping the gun after every recoil?

Screwed.

Magnets, he decided. Adding magnets to LEP gloves and guns. That would be a perfect solution. He'd run that by the two techies, the next time he was called in for something. They might even listen to the idea for long enough to stop sneering. Or maybe not. One would think he'd get a bit more respect, after his promotion, but nooooo...

As he swung his leg back over the bike and settled in, tugging at his gloves to help his grip (as if that had any impact the last three dozen times he'd tried it...), Grub heard a distant roar. His ears twitched, narrowing down the source to the arena's entrance tunnel. Pulling back a velcro strip on his wrist, he squinted at the moonometer, which flashed in the long track lights. 9:15pm. The evening shift must have just finished their introductory gossip and decided to get down to training. This first driver would be followed by a few dozen other Traffic flunkies, and Grub did not fancy the idea of trying to recover his dropped weapon from a gang of testosterone-filled Wheelies. He imagined the scene wold roughly resemble a game of Keep Away in elementary school.

Holstering the gun, Grub kick-started the bike and veered off to the technical driving course. He didn't anticipate the need for fancy driving, but it couldn't hurt. Once a bit of time had passed from the arrival of the rookie Wheelies, he could make a dignified retreat. Maybe work on his standing accuracy in the range, or see if Fowl could whip up a solution to the recoil issue before next week.

Screwed. No doubting it. Screwed, screwed, _screwed!_

* * *

**Week 30**

Foaly and Artemis Fowl had, by now, gone through several major intelligence operations together, and had managed to establish that unspoken rapport and seamless movement about each other that made a few fairies think some sort of psychic bond had formed between the centaur and elf. During particularly intense moments, they could even be heard finishing each others sentences while they wheeled their chairs about the room, close enough to hand over documents and equipment without ever once actually touching each other. For a pair that had once been enemies, and then simply antagonists, it was a remarkable achievement.

Vinyáya decided to sit in the back of the Operations Booth. She hated to be relegated to such a position, but forcing herself into the middle of the action would just slow the techies down, and slow techies could get her people killed. In a raid of this magnitude, everyone had to know where they should be and what to do, and that meant allowing messages to pass about without interruption. In all reality, Vinyáya had only one job today. Giving Holly the go-ahead. From there, it was out of her hands. Every piece was in place, like a massive domino field, and she stood ready to tip the first piece over.

"Now?" Short said over Vinyáya's headset.

Fowl and Foaly, both of which were wearing identical headsets to her own and tapped into her communications, held up their fists. Military for "hold on," no matter what species was making the sign.

"Negative, Short."

"I'm getting antsy up here, Wing Commander."

She could imagine so. In order to keep any of the goblin sentries from noticing the officer, Holly and her squad had arrived the night before and attached camfoil-covered surveillance pods to the far sides of the area's stalactites. Holly had enough room to move from the exit door to the bathroom, and that was being generous. Fowl had informed the commander that he'd advised Holly to bring up a book or two to occupy herself during the 24 hour wait, but he'd found his bookshelf fully stocked and Holly's personal tablet on the bedside table when he came home. He supposed she could spend her time going over LEP information files (still read by the sweet voice of Lieutenant Frond), but he somehow doubted she'd been amenable to either option.

"Now?" Holly said again, and there was the flutter of artificial wings in the headphones.

"Sleepers ready to go. Timers set to fifteen seconds." Fowl turned in his chair and nodded to the Wing Commander. "On your go-ahead, Commander."

Missions where his woman was putting herself in danger: the only moments when Fowl was perfectly polite to anyone. Until they fucked up and Holly got injured, of course. Then he began plotting revenge.

"Alright," Vinyáya said, fingers tingling in anticipation. She held the moment out, savoring it. Waiting for some unknown sign that_ this_ of all moments was the perfect one. None came, and, when the tension was finally crushing down on her, making each passing instant a torment, she cried out. "GO!"

"_FREEDOM!_" Holly screamed just before hitting the button to open her soundproofed door. A little explosion before the silence before the storm.

* * *

Despite their generally violent nature, goblins shared much of their behavioral patterns with the rest of the fairy families. For example, they find it abhorrent to hold a meeting of any particular size without first sharing a few snacks. The warehouse—a structure that was still in use by a cell phone manufacturing company, and thus half-full of boxes, the other half full of the reptilian brotherhood—was filled with hissed words and clicking teeth as a light array of curries was sampled by all in attendance. The vole curry was the big hit that night. One of the goblins had managed to get their hands on a crate full of smuggled habanero peppers, and had dumped the lot into the catered container. It completely ruined the native taste of the curry, but it had the delightful result of making tendrils of smoke constantly leak from each goblin's nostrils.

In the midst of the chatter, Foaly did what is his general lot in these situations: he pushed the button.

Goblins are not terribly intelligent creatures, as we all know. If they had been, the sight of half their considerable number slumping to the floor, snoring peacefully, would have made them reconsider their options and vote on a swift surrender.

Instead, one goblin spent a good three seconds staring at the body of his recruiter before licking an eyeball and saying, a bit nervously, "Did the vole curry taste a bit..._off _to anyone else?"

At the word "off," the world turned to chaos. One of the windows on the long side of the warehouse shattered, admitting a figure all in black. It filled the air with glass and bright blue lines of light and heat. Wherever these lines went, a goblin went down, joining his companions in dreamland.

"LEP!" One goblin—a small female—screeched, turning from the larger males that surrounded her, leaping over a pile of broken boxes and going on all fours as she bolted for one of the open windows on the ground level.

The large majority of the goblins did not retreat. Instead, they snapped their fingers, the rough surface of their prints and nails grinding together, producing sparks, which they instantly expanded into fist-sized balls of flames. All took aim, and most wondered how they could convince everyone that their fireball was the one that had killed the stupid, lone officer.

And then the rest of the windows exploded inward.

There wasn't an officer for every window. In fact, no goblin could see the officers that did come through. Even the original officer was gone, hidden by shielding vibrations. It would wreck havoc on her aim, but aim wasn't precisely important when shooting fish in a barrel.

Goblins dropped by the dozen. Many were hit more than once, but the charges were all on the lowest setting. A little headache when they woke up, but that would be a secondary concern to the incarceration.

Eventually, the goblins' tiny brains recognized a no-win situation, and they began to flee the building. However, most failed to follow the female's example, instead taking the front door. Here they ran across a tightly packed semi-circle of warlocks, which surrounded the gang members in cocoons of magic, snuffing out their fires and soon sending them into a comforting slumber. Many of the younger goblins began to suck their thumbs. And a few of the older generals, as it happened.

Holly giggled with a sort of malicious glee that might have unnerved even Opal Koboi. She didn't get nearly enough action, these days. Well, now the dog had been loosed, and it was time for a little hunting. She zipped back through one of the ruined windows and into the streets. In the end, she would have the highest capture rate of any fairy in the mission.

Oddly enough, she would not be the one most talked-about.

* * *

Grub was scowling the entire time he drove his circuit of the streets, waiting for the action in the warehouse to trickle down to him. If it ever did. He would be fine if it didn't. He was the last line of defense, after all. If anyone got as far as him, then the other officers weren't doing their jobs. Although, noting his opinion of how well others in the LEP did their jobs, perhaps he should have expected there to be a stream of goblins to detain. It was more that he didn't _want_ to consider this possibility.

Fowl and Foaly had laughed at the idea of magnetizing gloves and guns. How, they had queried, would you let the gun _go_, should you need to fight hand-to-hand? Grub had informed him that this was their area, not his. At which point Fowl had gone into a thirty-second explanation of where Captain Kelp's area was, and how to get back to it. That had resulted in a good twenty-page-long report to his brother. Mostly on how illogical it would be for him to become pregnant, and how being barefoot in the kitchen was unsanitary.

The damned techies never did anything useful for him, and after all his hard work for them...

* * *

"What?" Fowl said, one hand flying out to his keyboard and isolating a transmission with a few taps. "Yaxley, repeat."

Vinyáya tuned out the rest of the reports, focusing on the voice of a panicking sprite. "Repeat, suspect has evaded capture, officer down! Medical warlock needed in the third quadrant, officer down!"

"D'arvit!" The cry came from everyone in the room. As the techies began to scramble a med unit to the sprite's injured partner, Vinyáya zoomed her map in, eyes darting through the names of the Wheelies in the third quadrant.

"Herron, detain—"

A voice on the radio interrupted her. "Just passed, Wing Commander! Gods, he's faster than a sprite on a sugar high!"

"Logan, coming in from your right!" She could feel her nails trying to sink into the steel table, long tips bending under the pressure. "ETA three seconds!"

"Copy!" A new voice responded, deep and firm. "I see him! I—aagh!"

"Logan! Logan, respond!"

"I'm hit! Fireball to my right hand. Healing fine, but I dropped my gun. I lost him!"

"D'arvit! Whose next, whose next..." She followed the goblin's path, looking for the next officer. Next officer...

"Oh, d'arvit," she whispered.

Catching the dread in her voice, Fowl pulled up the same map and groaned. With a few taps, he was on the officer's radio, giving him fair warning.

"Kelp...try to avoid getting yourself killed."

* * *

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Fowl," Grub muttered, eyes scanning the alleyways. The goblin could burst from any of them, and with little warning. They were the fastest of the People when doing things like fleeing from a prison sentence. He needed to keep moving. Swerving. Making sure he didn't present the goblin with an easy target.

He did a sweep of the street, passing the alleys, barely looking ahead of him as he focused his vision down each dark corridor, waiting for the telltale glow of a goblin's fire. He slowed down just enough at the end of each pass to turn the bike without toppling over or grinding his leg against the pavement. Soon...soon...

It came as Grub turned and was looking down the street, bursting out of the furthest alleyway. It was blazing, sending up every flame in its goblin arsenal to intimidate the officer. It was less like a lizard and more a bullet of flames. For a moment, there even seemed to be tooth-filled shapes in the fire, but they flashed out quickly; either a shock tactic or a hallucination.

Grub whimpered as he hit the accelerator and shot towards the creature. He really wanted his desk job back.

"FREEZE!" He projected his voice, trying to make it as deep as possible. Then, after a pause, he added "PLEASE," hoping the goblin would sit calmly and say that, gosh darn-it, no one had simply been polite about it, and he'd be happy to go with the nice officer and answer any questions he had.

As it happens, no. Not at all. The goblins every footprint scorched the earth, turning the street sticky and burning away the lane paint, leaving small islands of flame where it had been. It opened its mouth in a hiss that sounded like a sword dragged along stone.

"D'arvit," Grub snapped, drawing his right hand away from the handlebar, taking the clasped-on gun with it, and trained it on the goblin's head. A split second to aim. He fired.

The recoil tore the gun away from his grip, with no signs of improvement from his hours of training to keep the weapon. He followed it's path with his eyes, hoping it had been worth the loss.

He turned his head back around, begging the gods that he would see an unconscious goblin in the road.

"Oh...Mommy," Grub whispered.

Then he hit the breaks and braced himself.

* * *

She felt her heart stop at the words.

"HE HIT ME!"

"Medic, Granite Street, NOW!" It took a second for the wing commander to realize she was on her feet, and the table was on its way to the floor, knocked over in her sudden rise. "NOW, gods dammit," she screamed when a warlock did not respond in the next second.

"I can't believe it!" Grub's voice came, hysterical. "He hit me...oh, oh gods, _she_ hit me!"

"Don't move, Kelp!" Vinyáya stepped over the table, pushing her way between the techies to get at their displays. "Moving will add trauma to the wounds!"

"What? Why? I'm not touching her!"

Scowling, Vinyáya ordered Fowl to pull up the captain's helmet feed, but he had done so by the time she had the first three words out. Being a camera feed, she saw only what the officer saw, and he was currently whipping his head about, looking for the ambulance. "I said don't move, Kelp! Don't make your wounds any worse!"

"_My_ wounds?" He laughed shrilly, head shaking, giving everyone in the room motion sickness from the change in view. "Not me! Her!" He finally brought his view into firm focus. "She _hit_ me!"

Vinyáya stared, and her mouth fell open by degrees.

There was fire everywhere. The bike's seat and handlebars were burning green from the chemicals, and the rest of the street was interspersed with small yellow pockets, which were going out one by one. Laying on top of the bike, its back on the rear wheel, front claws digging into the engine casing, belly in the air, was a goblin. By the small red ridge on its nose and skull, a female. Her forehead was smashed open and bleeding freely, with a bit of white bone protruding. Doubtless she would need a warlock, and quickly. If goblins were more intelligent creatures, Vinyáya would have even been worried about the loss of some IQ points.

"What...in the world...?"

"She just slammed right into me!" Grub explained frantically. "I didn't have time to stop! _Gods_, how stupid _are_ goblins?"

She shook her head, massaging her temples. "Kelp!"

"Roger!"

"_Handcuffs!_"

An awkward pause. "OH! Where are they...yes!" The officer produced a pair of vacuum-sealed restraints. He slipped them on swiftly, managing to avoid jostling the female as he did so. He yelped as the last one suctioned the oxygen away from the goblin's hands.

"D'arvit, Foaly! I _told_ you these things have sharp bits! Ung!" He shook his hand and sucked on his pinkie. "Oh, damn, that _stings_."

Foaly looked to Fowl, rolling his eyes, and made a hand motion that involved a very limp wrist. Fowl nodded in agreement before returning to the operations, making sure a medic was on the way to take care of one massively injured goblin and a "wounded" officer.

Vinyáya took several steps back from the main screens, her hands waving about behind her as she searched for an empty chair. "Gods.._.__dammit_, Kelp." She let out a strained laughed and, finding her seat, slumped into it, digging a hand into her thick hair. The most overwhelming sense of relief filled her every cell. "You...are an_ idiot_."

There was a sullen silence on the line.

Then, practically crowing, Grub responded with, "Yeah! But I caught her!"

* * *

**Preview: "****You've got the women waiting in line./ I'm not asking you to make up your mind./ But I can make you happy at least now and then./ I've got something special for my bad boyfriend."**

* * *

**Razzum frazzum 9****th**** Circuit Court of Appeals...razzum frazzum creating a lower class of citizens...razzum frazzum array their entrails in a pentagram and summon a demon to curse their descendants unto the thirteenth generation...**

**Kit is in a bad mood. Try to banish it with reviews, please.**


	35. Go OnJust Pretend

**OMG, SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS CHAPTER!**

* * *

**Song: "Bad Boyfriend" by Garbage**

* * *

**Chapter 35: Go On...Just Pretend**

**Week 30-Part 2**

The goblins continued trying to escape for the next hour. Doubtless, a few got away, but the large majority were picked up by heavily armored LEP vans and taken back to the Plaza for processing. The operation was an enormous success. Most of the suspects would come off clean enough, this being their first foray into the dying gang. In fact, a large number of them would get away without even a sleeper-seeker, though their several hundred hours of community service would make an impression in the community. Both for the goblins themselves, seeing the dying gasp of their organization, and for the rest of the People, seeing the last of the threats put to work on their roadways. The bright pink jumpsuits worn by all service crews would also give the goblins plenty of reason to avoid the bad side of the law: pink just did not go with scales.

The Plaza was soon almost as chaotic as the warehouse, with a battalion of officers at the ready just to process the prisoners. They did the most cursory of check-ins, making sure none of the goblins had children at home or any medical problems that would require special care, adding their names to a list of the arrested to be posted on the LEP website for concerned family to search. In the next few hours, when things died down, they would be allowed their phone calls and assessed for bail, in the case of the newer offenders.

Despite the fact that the dangerous portion of the operations had concluded, Vinyáya found herself just as busy, directing the known B'wa Kell officers to more secure cells and making sure all of her underlings came back when they were supposed to. This was more of a chore than it should have been, as many a new Wheelie stopped on the way to pick up a celebratory bite to eat. These would be assigned to duty as walking, talking traffic signals, come morning.

Holly's arrival was met with a round of cheers, which she met with a smug smirk, soon wiped clean away as Fowl grabbed her and they disappeared to her office for a "debriefing." Adrenaline did wonderful things to an elf, as Vinyáya well knew. She was feeling it a bit, as well, and found herself scowling at the young elves. They could have the decency of waiting until their duties were over, but she was probably the last person that should reprimand a younger officer for engaging in an on-the-clock tryst.

A few minutes later, there was a smatter of clapping (not really applause, too tentative), muttering, and some laughs. Right ear twitching at the noise, Vinyáya looked up to see what officer was getting such a mixed response.

Grub caught her eyes as he walked into the main booking room, and he grinned. There was no goblin in tow, as some of the other officers had possessed, since his one capture had injured herself enough to need a trip to a warlock before processing. She would be in soon, but, in the meantime, Grub was enjoying the praise from the few officers that seemed to have forgiven him his years of being a prat. One even punched him on the right shoulder, which earned a yelp of pain. On that side, his suit had been turned from LEP green to road-pancake-black in one long skid where he landed after being flung from his bike. Undoubtedly, he would be needing another Ritual trip, but, for now, he had no gaping wounds and seemed willing to wait out the pain until a Medic could be cleared for his healing.

She had to smile. Such a huge change in attitude. Before, the boy would have been whining at top volume if he had so much as a stubbed toe. His stoic indifference was a blessing.

Pensively, Vinyáya looked at her hand, gauging her reserves of magic. It had been about a year since her last surface trip, but there hadn't been many injuries since. She was about half full. More than enough to take care of some bruising. And, well, he'd be insufferable eventually, so maybe it made sense to just bypass the Medics entirely...

"Grub, you moron!" A smooth voice made a bit high-pitched by worry called out.

Vinyáya's head snapped up, and she quickly looked away from the group of fairies, watching from the corner of her eyes.

"Thanks for the compliments on my catch, Lili," Grub muttered, but there was enough playfulness in his voice to keep his old whining at bay.

"Oh, shut up," the small elf growled, butting her head into the tall man's chest as she wrapped her arms about his waist. When his entire body jerked, she pulled back. "Sorry! Sorry. Magic all gone, then?"

"Yeah. I've never been that good at healing, and that was a bit of a fall." He said this in an almost nonchalant way, reminiscent of the star of Western movie saying that a bullet wound to the shoulder was just a flesh wound. The effect was somewhat ruined by his wincing.

"Here," Lili murmured, placing her hand high on Grub's injured side and stroking down slowly, flooding the bruises with blue sparks. When they had faded away, she looked up at her soon-claimed mate, smiling softly. "Better?"

"A _lot_," Grub whispered, lowering his head to pay back the favor with a kiss that made the surrounding officers cough and move away. They had plenty of time to do so, as the pair were soon leaning against a wall, with Lili pinned on the inside, only bowing to propriety in a small degree by making sure the wall was not in the main booking line, where everyone could see them. She really should have been helping with the processing, but no one seemed to have the heart to break them apart.

"Vinyáya?"

The light hand placed on the Wing Commander's shoulder made her jump and breath in sharply, turning to look at a frowning Major Short, Fowl standing not too far off, looking between the two women and the intimate pair across the room.

He had one eyebrow raised when focused on the superior officer, and did not quell when she glared at him quite fiercely.

"Dr. White caught up to me in the halls," Holly said, being her non-Fowl self and failing to catch the interaction. "She wants you heading home once the generals have been booked."

Scowling, Vinyáya shook her head. "No, I'm not leaving until the mid-ranked prisoners are processed, at the least."

"Um..." Holly looked nervous. Which immediately alarmed Vinyáya, as the spitfire was the last officer she would expect to show any nerves, besides herself. "She...um..."

Fowl rolled his eyes at his mate's reticence. "She said it was the order of a medical officer that you leave once the generals are booked."

He did not emphasize "order" in the least, but it was a jarring word to the Wing Commander, who had not been subject to anyone's whims since the bad days of Ark Sool (and most of those had been covertly bypassed) that it was practically a scream in her ears. She scowled and was about to give Fowl a message for Dr. White about where the doctor could place her orders (a location not considered sanitary by the medical establishment), but she took a few seconds to pause. Medical officers the world around had the authority to give orders to any officer, if the orders pertained to maintaining the health of their charge, and the LEP was no different. Disobeying Dr. White could very well lead to a Internal Affairs inquiry and a reprimand, which would be embarrassing beyond belief. Breathing out slowly, she nodded.

"Short, are you up to finishing the processing without me here to help?"

Holly greened at the idea of all that paperwork, but nodded. A few years in the position of a Major had made her a bit more tolerant of the boring parts of her job. "Yes, Wing Commander. Drive home safely." She went to attention, snapping a formal salute.

Vinyáya returned it, giving the junior officer a stiff nod. "I leave my post in your hands." They released the salute simultaneously, and the motion seemed to steal all of Vinyáya's energy. While she was performing in official capacity, she had been surrounded by the energy of her position. Now, going back to civilian-mode, she felt a little lost. Normally, when conducting an operation this major, she would work until everything was done, and would often wake up in her bed a half-day later, a bit confused about how she had got there.

After a few more moments pause, but before Short could cough formally to remind her of the order of exile, she turned and made for the parking structure. For some reason, she was sure this night would feel a lot longer spent home alone than in the chaos of the Plaza.

* * *

Lili had healed Grub, but any officer injured in action required an examination from one of the medical warlocks. More than one fairy had healed a visible major injury and considered themselves perfectly fine, only to discover serious internal damage long after a healing could be performed. With all the topped-off warlocks concerned with more major injuries, Grub Kelp found himself shunted off to his good nurse, Dr. White.

"Don't blink," she snapped, shining a bright light into his eyes. When he failed to comply, his nocturnal senses reeling at the beam, she placed a hand to his head, index and middle finger above and below his eye, forcing the skin to stay apart as she inspected for brain trauma.

"Ow ow ow," Grub whimpered, trying to close his eye and failing until the very moment the mixed-breed fairy pulled her hand away, and then he kept it tightly closed, twisting up half of his face. "Well?"

"Can you hear this?" The woman held a small speaker next to Grub's left ear, making it emit a very high-pitched tone.

"AH! Yes!" He leaned away from the noise, and was forced to yelp again and lean back when the microphone tested his other ear. "I didn't hit my head! Just sort of...skidded. I'm fine!"

"I know," White said, putting her equipment away. "But these are regulations." She said this in such an offhand manner that Grub was certain "regulations" was actually a stand-in for "a painful lesson to keep you hotshot officers from getting killed."

She proceeded to poke and prod him at length, making various parts of his anatomy flail about in defiance of his will. When she found his reactions on his formerly injured right side to be less than satisfactory, she rooted about in her cabinets, removing a stack of foil-wrapped packages. Handing them over, she said, "Sleep on your left side tonight, and put these all across your right. You've got a little stiffness, but no real damage. These will loosen you up and get you back to combat status."

"I sleep on that side," Grub protested.

"Not tonight you don't," White snapped.

"And I don't want to be on combat status!"

"And all of Haven dreads it, as well, but that's the job, so do as your told and come in tomorrow for a checkup. If you're all good, I can clear you for physical activity, but, for now, take it easy."

Grub suddenly sat up straight. "Clear me...doctor, I'm moving in two days, I _have_ to be cleared!"

"Then do as your told," White said sweetly, shoving the packages further into his chest, "and go home. You're done here tonight."

For a moment, Grub wanted to protest that they needed him in processing, but he was suddenly finding that good, sweet Dr. White was in no mood to humor him. She had seen enough rebellious officers for the night, and Grub decided to make a swift, dignified retreat.

He made quick goodbyes, and Lili looked devastated as she glanced past him at the downtrodden line of convicts. She would be busy for hours more, at least. It was a good bet that she and Short would be in residence until Haven began to awake from a very long, very cold night.

There wasn't much Grub could do. He considered offering to defy doctor's orders and help with processing, but about the time he had that idea, Dr. White came out to get her next patient and gave him such a glare that he was momentarily worried she would try to _mesmer_ him into obedience. When she turned on her heels and marched back to her office, followed by a goblin with a nose that wouldn't strop smorking (he was saying something about "the best curry ever"), he sighed, leaning over to kiss just behind Lili's ear and whisper to her.

"Two nights," he said.

She smiled at this, squeezed his hands, and pushed off on his back, forcing him towards the exit.

Grub found that, once he left the crowds, he began to limp a little. He was less surprised about the limp—he had slid quite a few meters before coming across the convenient stopping point of a curb—and more about its sudden appearance. Posturing. It seemed more something his brother would do.

He had originally intended to catch a late bus to the outskirts of his suburb, but, on noticing the limp, decided to be a bit indulgent and call a cab. He was on the line with the receptionist as he descended the Plaza's front steps with great care, his grip on the handrail tight, as he found himself leaning a bit too much to the side on every step.

The receptionist had decided to put him on hold for the umpteenth time when he saw her.

Wing Commander Vinyáya leaned against the side of her magna-bike, rubbing at her face with one hand, the other inspecting her own cell phone. She was frowning, and would occasionally grip the phone as if it were a knife and stab at her thigh, glower deepening.

"Wing Commander?" Grub ventured, taking the last steps off concrete and standing a few parking spaces from her on the asphalt. It was late in the night for the People, and the lights about the Plaza had been dimmed, leaving only a few streetlamps and the distant Plaza building to see by.

She looked up, eyes flashing in surprise, but soon eased. "Ah. Kelp."

"Are you okay?"

The woman shrugged, sliding her phone closed and swinging one leg over the side of the bike, settling into the seat. "Simply tired. It has been an eventful evening."

Little alarms went off in Grub's worrier mind. If not for the call he himself was making, he probably would not have put two and two together, but, when he did, he jumped forward, grabbing one of the magna-bike's handles, startling the rider. "You were going to call a cab because you're tired?"

"_No_," Vinyáya cut back, pushing on the handle she held in an effort to dislodge the elf. An effort that failed. "I considered the idea and decided against it." Deciding to give Kelp a few more seconds to let go before she broke his grip—and perhaps his wrist—she took her helmet off the seat and popped it over her head.

"Then call. Hell, take my cab!" Grub said, waving his phone at her.

"I don't _need_ a cab, Kelp. I am perfectly fine to get home."

"Vinyáya, you know yourself better than that," Grub said, trying to be even, instead of shrill or soft, both of which were tones he imagined would lead to complete failure. He aimed for a military-deep tone. Official. Perhaps that would be the most effective means of conversation with the higher-up. "If you were considering taking a cab home, then you aren't sure of your ability to get home safe. Call the cab."

Vinyáya kicked the stand back, leaning the bike to the side abruptly and effectively dislodging Grub's hold on the handle. "I will not!"

"Then let me take you home!"

She scoffed. "Oh, in your cab?"

"No," Grub said reasonably. "On that."

Vinyáya took a long moment to look along the path of Grub's outstretched finger and realize it was pointed directly at her magna-bike.

"Oh, no. Not happening."

"I am not letting you go home alone when you're not feeling well," Grub said, pressing a button on the handlebar, which made the rear compartment of the bike pop open as he moved to stand behind the wheel, reaching inside and shoving things about. "And, if you wont take a cab, that means I'm driving."

"I'm not _drunk_, Kelp. I don't need a designated driver."

"If you ride home when you're unsure of yourself," Grub said, pulling out a helmet and flipping it between his hands to inspect it for previous damage, "I will be calling Holly in to chase after you. You know she will."

Oh, she would indeed. Vinyáya dug her nails into the rubber grips of the handles. "Kelp...are you aware that, with just a little bit of reverse, I can make sure you don't father children on anyone else?"

Grub looked down at the rear wheel, placed inconveniently between his legs and close to his reproductive organs. He blinked several times. "Um...I...didn't know you wanted that honor to be exclusive."

"..._honor?_" She turned in her seat, looking at him in horror. "No, you...ugh!" Letting her head fall, she clipped her temple against the head-pipe, wincing. "Kelp..._what_ do I have to do...?"

"Just let me drive, Vinyáya," he said softly. "We'll both get home quicker, and no cab fares, right? It's the perfect solution."

"Kelp," she said around the bike's metal frame. "You just _crashed_ a bike."

"_Technically_," Grub hedged, sliding the helmet on his head, leaving the visor up, "_she_ ran into _me."_

"How comforting." Very slowly, taking the extra time to stretch out her arching muscles, Vinyáya sat up straight. She raised her hands, as if surrendering to police custody. "All right. All right. Just get us home, don't scratch my bike, and let's never speak of this again."

"_Thank you," _he breathed. "Move back, would you?"

Grumbling all the while about horrible ideas, Vinyáya placed her hands on the seat and pushed back until there was ample room for another passenger to mount before her.

All too familiar with the Wing Commander's swift movements and penchant for great escapes, Grub made sure to begin by leaning forward to grab the clutch, so there was no way the woman could reverse past him as he tried to mount. She rolled her eyes at this, but inwardly applauded his foresight. If given such an opportunity, she likely would have taken it, pre-planned or not.

Then he moved to the front of the bike and swung one leg over, spending a few moments there inspecting the controls and feel of the machine, making minor adjustments. He finally snapped down the visor of his helmet and rested his thumb on the kill switch. "You okay back there?"

"Let's please not make me analyze my position, Kelp. Just go." Vinyáya held firm to the sides of the seat, hands as close to her body as possible. It had been ages since they were this close, and she was not liking where the night's adrenalin and her normal swing of hormones was heading.

Shrugging, Grub flipped the switch, squeezed the clutch, and hit the ignition. The magna-bike roared to life under him, making his teeth buzz for a moment before he clenched them tighter. He had to admit, being on a bike felt sort of nice. He didn't think it would fit into his coming lifestyle, but he could see himself enjoying a ride where he got the opportunity.

Keeping the bike in neutral, he pushed back, moving out of the parking spot and into position on the road. Once ready, he cleared his throat. Calm. Must be calm. "Um...don't you think you should hold on?" After a pause, he clarified, voice cracking like he had just begun to shift his vocals. "To me? So you don't fall off?"

The passenger was not touching him anywhere, but he could feel the tension overtake her body. "No," Vinyáya growled, digging her fingers even deeper into the gel seat. "I think not."

Grub considered arguing, but, wisely, thought better. He was learning, it seemed. "Just don't fall off." Switching into gear, he began the short trek home.

They went at a _glacial_ pace, in Vinyáya's opinion. Admittedly, he took the quarter mile from the Plaza at the legal speed limit, which she tended to defy with great glee. There was no weaving between cars or making extra lanes along the dotted lines, as she was also prone to do. Overall, their styles couldn't be more different: she aggressive, he defensive.

Despite it being relatively late for the People, there were plenty of vehicles still on the road. Vinyáya felt her ears prickle as they roared up the on-ramp to one of Haven's three major freeways. The man was doing all the proper things for merging—liberal, but quick inspections of the traffic, signaling, increase of speed—but she found herself analyzing the many cars on the road. So, when Grub began to lean in to merge, she saw what he did not: a car coming up in his blind spot, far past the speed limit and not signaling as it snaked into the lane that they would be attempting to occupy in two seconds.

"Kelp, watch out!"

Wrapping her arms about Grub's chest to amplify her leverage, Vinyáya threw her body away from the oncoming car, forcing the bike to swerve back into the merging lane, making several cars behind them brake and honk their horns. The car that would have smeared them across the highway blared its own horn as it blasted past, as if they had been the ones in the wrong. The bike wobbled for several seconds before going smooth again.

"Oh gods...oh gods..." Grub huffed, hunching over before remembering that he still needed to merge, as the lines were quickly disappearing. "Ought to sic traffic on him. Almost killed us..."

Perhaps at one point, Vinyáya would have either agreed or told Kelp to pay attention as he finished the merging, but she found herself unable to break her silence. Or her grip. As they finally managed to successfully enter a lane and gained a firm sense of balance, she tried desperately to think up a safe and inconspicuous way to unwrap her arms and scoot back down the bike. She could always tell him to pull over, of course, but that would involve regaining her powers of speech and pointing out the situation.

She could feel his hummingbird-fast heartbeat under her hand. She'd felt it before, of course, but always in the context of keeping him in place, rather than holding him close. Fast, but strong, and regaining a normal rhythm as she continued to try and think of a away to let go.

And his scent...okay, so he needed a bit of a shower, after being shot across the asphalt and sweating it out for a good deal of the evening, but it was sort of...pleasant. Very male. His soap was a simple brand, with no added floral odors, and she could still detect it along his neck. He used a spicy aftershave, but just a diluted splash. Almost unnoticeable, unless you came very close. Every so often, the wake of a passing car would muddle the winds, and she caught a tendril of green tea from his shampoo.

And something else. Something so soft and distant that it barely registered. Sweet and tart. Probably a nice mix, normally, but Vinyáya's more instinctive side was what analyzed the scent. It was a very..._female_ scent.

Grub had long-since put the near-collision behind in his mind, and began to veer off the highway, taking a tightly spiraling off-ramp that forced them to both lean into the curve, feeling the momentary increase in centripetal force. The ramp set them off an eighth of a mile from the Hills, and that little bit less from the house. In only a minute, they were there, waiting as the garage door rumbled open.

Grub turned in his seat to look at Vinyáya, making their helmets bump. "See! Was that so bad?"

"No," Vinyáya murmured, eyes half-closed. "Not at all."

For a few seconds, Grub stared at her. It was roughly the look a young rabbit would give to a rattlesnake. He had expected her to be indignant, but with her eyes narrowed like that and such calm to her voice, he began to imagine the great torments that would soon be his. He decided that putting as much distance as possible between them would be the best course of action. So, giving the engine a fraction of gas, he slid the magna-bike into the tiny garage, hitting the button to close the door even before they were fully inside.

He kicked out the stand and shut everything off efficiently, removing his helmet and taking a moment to shake out his hair before rising to dismount.

He slammed back to the seat with a loud "oof!" "Wh-what?"

There was a very strong arm still wrapped about his chest, nails digging into his jacket.

Behind him, Vinyáya's chest seemed to vibrate. Growling? Purring? Both?

"V-Vinyaya?" He said, the first "ya" going shrill. "Um...can I...please—"

"No," she rumbled, tone broking no argument.

Flight cut off, Grub's body switched to fight instincts. Not the battle part, but instead the sudden tension of muscles and rush of adrenalin that would make any pain felt a dull echo of its full force. Even while his body prepared, he made another bid at escapee. "I should go inside and—"

"_Shut up_," the woman commanded, the hand at Grub's chest pulling back until his spine arched.

"But—"

"_Now!_" The order came so hash and close to his ear that he winced.

And then Grub felt warm, wet lips on his earlobes, and lost all sense of reality.

"F-fuck, Vinyáya!" His ear seemed to almost buzz, and there was no doubt this time: she was growling. Like a dog that had just discovered a meaty bone, and was warning all comers to stay clear, lest they leave limping.

Grub tried to lean away, but Vinyáya's arm was strong, keeping him to her chest. His strength briefly fled as she traced up the ridge of his ear with her tongue, finally stopping to nip at the tender tip.

"Oh...gods..." He found himself groaning, eyes closing for a second. She did this so rarely, and he _loved_ it when she played with his ears. Her tongue knew the exact places to stroke or tickle or prod, just how to make him ache and beg...

Then he remembered himself and snapped his eyes back open, searching. A tool. An escape. _Something_.

Vinyáya was less concerned with her surroundings. She really didn't need any extra items for what her body had planned. Quite to the contrary. There should be a lot less stuff around here. Like pants. Pants should cease to exist. Not having any special telekinetic powers to force a total existence failure on the garments, she decided to do the next best thing. Grabbing the front loop of Grub' belt, she began to tug. With supreme efficiency, the belt came loose, the little clink of the metal confirming to her captive that things were getting out of hand.

With a little rush of blood to strengthen his fear and other more tangible things, Grub realized that the "situation" was just a few seconds, a button, and a zipper away from being _in_ hand.

"V-Vinyaya!" Grub called out again. It was more an instinctive response than a cry of lust. His body responded with the typical male sexual autopilot, but his mind remained focused on a frantic search for an escape. The garage was too organized. Just a small space to keep the bike, plus some tools for its repair. There wasn't even a random box of old books lying about. It seemed that Vinyáya did not hesitate to toss things she had decided she didn't need. A fact with which Grub was intimately familiar.

So there was only one thing in reach. Well, two, really, but Vinyáya was not a good option. Although she was seeming better and better with each fumble and little suck on his ear-tip.

So that left the bike.

Staring at the controls, he tried to formulate a plan. He would never be given enough time to start the bike, or even get it out of gear in the hopes that movement would startle the woman. The headlights would only make the garage a little lighter. Something else. Some quick strike, before she reached her goal and tore away his resolve.

With a sudden flash of insight, Grub reached out, gasped the left handle, and hit the horn. And held.

The garage was instantly filled with the klaxon, reverberating in the small space, assaulting both elves' fine-tuned hearing.

_"D'arvit!_" Vinyáya howled, hands flying to her ears, trying to block out the pain.

Gritting his teeth against the pain and desire to let the horn go, Grub swung his leg off the bike, keeping one finger on the handle until his body was as far away as possible, then jerking it back and taking one jumping step to the door.

As the final echo faded, Vinyáya snapped her cat-pupiled eyes open, searing Grub with their grey depths. "What the _hell_ was..."

She stopped.

It came at her like a tidal wave. Everything sucked out from under her one moment, and then crashing across her face the next. The man, standing as far from her as he could, face pale, shirt rumpled, trousers half undone, the belt hanging limply, tinkling with his every harsh breath. His eyes were wide, and she had the distinct impression that he wanted to stop looking at her, but didn't dare take his eyes away.

"Oh gods," Vinyáya breathed. "Kelp, I...oh gods."

He held up a hand to stop her repetitions. "Hormones. Just...let's say it's hormones, okay?"

She nodded dimly, wanting to just put in that it was also battle adrenalin and finally having a body to hold onto after the months of skin-hunger...but she stopped herself.

"Just...toss my bag over," Grub said, swallowing harshly as he tried to take a proper breath, "and I'll go get some clothes for the weekend. I'll be staying at..."

Grub thought hard. Trouble would kill him, even if he wasn't the one to make the advance. His mother...after five months living without her, not a chance.

"With Lili," he finally managed, ignoring the councilwoman's wince. "I'll...be back for my stuff on Friday."

Vinyáya looked down at her hands, which dug into the padded seat, puncturing the thick gel in a few places. "Good idea," she said. "I...I'm sorry, Gr...Kelp."

Grub opened his mouth to speak, pausing for a second before he decided to say something else. "My bag, please."

"Yes, right." She took it out of the bike's storage compartment, holding it out. When he did not reach for it, she twisted her wrist, letting the bag go into a gentle swing. She released at the top of the arc, the bag falling neatly into Grub's waiting arms.

He stood still for a second, considering her. Wondering what he was supposed to do to make this all go away. When he realized that even Fowl could not erase the last few minutes, he left.

Vinyáya watched the close garage door for a long time. The only thing she could think to do...that she _wanted _to do...was just...madness.

Slowly, she hung her head until it thumped on the bike's control panel. "Oh...gods...what have I done?"

* * *

Four hours into processing, and the line was just starting to look reasonable. Not encouraging, but reasonable. Lili sighed, signaling for the next goblin to be brought up.

Holly was the one escorting, finding herself with little to do, once the big catches were gone. She made the fairy sit by pressing a hard hand into its shoulder. The chair screeched as it skittered across the floor a small fraction, and Lili winced. Her head hurt enough as it was.

"Your boy's capture," Holly said. "I figured you'd want to take this one."

Lili managed a weak smile as she accepted the data crystal and slid it into her tablet. She did like the idea. Working in tandem with Grub, making Haven a safer place...so long as you weren't the one on a bike.

Holly remained at the bound goblin's side as the questioning began.

"Please state your full name," Lili intoned, trying to be moderately pleasant and completely official.

The goblin held her head higher, large spiny ears clasping tight to the side of her head. "Kitane Scree," she hissed, as all goblins must.

Lili frowned. Something there. Far back in her mind, tapping her mental shoulder for attention. She brushed it away. "How long have you been in the B'wa Kell?" This was something of a trick question. An answer of any term was, of course, a confession of involvement in a recognized dangerous gang, and a good two-thirds of the convictions tonight would come from this part of the interview alone.

Scree was a little wiser than her brethren. "The what?" She blinked, her third, transparent eyelid barely yellowing her eyes before it disappeared.

Lili shuddered. Next, the lizard would begin licking her own eyeballs. "What was your position in the B'wa Kell?"

The female gave her a smile. It was rather reminiscent of a t-rex. "Again, the what?"

Lili nodded. A clever one. Nice to see, in a frustrating way. Still, there was plenty of footage of this goblin going after a LEP officer at full flame. No matter what, she would be serving time, unless she struck a plea deal. And goblins weren't good on planning, so thinking up a plea deal was unlikely.

"Residence?" At the goblin's furrowed, confused brow, she clarified. "Where do you live?"

The puzzlement and irritation vanished. "The streets, man."

Resisting the urge to remind the goblin that she was a lady (though perhaps most of the Lower Elements would have said "lady" with a suggestive wink), Lili tried again. "What was the last place you...paid for?"

The goblin snorted. "Ain't gonna tell you that!"

Holly rolled her eyes and opened the goblin's jacket, making the lizard hiss in outrage at the exposure, even if her chest was as flat as the males of her species. Conducting a quick search, she produced a few coins, some crumpled papers, and a very worn wallet.

Lili took the wallet. She almost couldn't figure out how to unzip the packed thing, and then her desk was covered in a shower of cards, bills, and random papers as the satchel exploded. Lili rooted through and found the ID, inputting the information into her computer. "87 Lionel Court, apartment...3-B."

She stared at the address. She already knew it by heart. Even before the goblin had arrived.

"Lieutenant?" Holly inquired.

Looking up at Holly, Lili whimpered in her most supplicating fashion. "Do they _have_ to?"

* * *

Grub had obviously disobeyed Dr. White's instructions, but it was the best he could do, without a bed. The wraps were on his side, but he had been getting his rest while sitting with his back to one of Frond Mansion's marble columns, using his change of clothes as a pillow.

He jerked awake at the first crunch of car tires on the gravel driveway, managing to stand—if a bit shakily—by the time Lili parked.

She seemed somewhat startled to see him. And not as pleased as he had hoped. He waited for her to join him on the top step, and they stood awkwardly in front of each other before remembering that they should embrace.

"I...bad news," Lili said.

Grub felt his insides freeze. Had Vinyáya told her...? No. As much as that woman had put him through, Grub did not believe she would tell Lili about the incident she had caused. She was full of anger towards him, but she wasn't vindictive over a refusal. That did not help him in calming down, but then, he had other problems that kept him off-balance. "What is it?"

"The goblin you caught..." At Grub's sudden squeak of terror, she jumped forward, laying both of her hands on his shoulders to keep him standing. "She's fine! All healed, and in lock-down, now. Just...her name was 'Scree'."

Grub's eyes flickered deep in their green depths. He was on the cusp of signifying the name, just as Lili had been. "Yes?"

"She...eventually claimed to be a captain." After giving him time to remember—which did not happen—Lili let the final fact free. "She just lost her apartment on Lionel Court."

Now Grub gaped. "Oh...oh, shit. There's no way. That's too big a coincidence!"

She shook her head. "Holly already sent out a pair of officers to see the landlord. It's her." Lili heaved a deep sigh, burying a hand in her hair and tugging. "They need to search the apartment for evidence."

"No! It was gutted in the fire," Grub protested, even though he was sure the woman had already used this argument on Holly repeatedly. "They wont find anything!"

"But if the residence isn't searched, her lawyer will argue that we failed to look for something that could exonerate her."

"She was at the raid, wasn't she? She almost killed me!" It was an exaggeration, perhaps, but his lady did not challenge it, having more important things on her mind.

"But it could still be used to argue reasonable doubt. Hell, given the state of the apartment, she could say she was kidnapped! They _need_ to search."

"Oh, gods..." Grub slammed his head back into the pillar and winced. "Do they have any idea how long that will take?" Weeks, he imagined, with as many people as were captured that night.

"I pulled a few strings," Lili said. "The generals have to go first, but then they'll search her apartment. Monday, Tuesday at the _latest_."

"Oh, thank Frond," Grub said without thinking, but Miss Frond did not comment on the sacrilege "I don't know if I could have taken another week of..." He swallowed, eyes darting to Lili's face.

"Of?" Lili prompted. Her ears were tingling. A bad sign.

Grub looked at the space between their feet, eyes again darting up for just a split-second "I..." Gritting his teeth, Grub took one of Lili's hands. "I don't want to tell you this."

Tremulously, Lili said, "Tell me...what?"

Grub shook his head. "Just...let me tell the whole story, okay? Let me _finish _the story before you say anything. It's...it's not my fault."

Lili nodded, eyes wide.

Grub took a deep breath.

He told her.

* * *

**Preview: "****I want you to know that it doesn't matter/ where we take this road, **_**someone's**_** gotta go./ And I want you to know you couldn't have loved me better..."  
**

* * *

**The original song for this chapter, and the one that lasted up to a week before posting, was "Harder to Breath" by Maroon 5. I am still somewhat torn about the replacement, but it added variety to the play-list. So, go listen to that, as well, to see what mostly inspired the chapter.**

**Also, SUPER-EXCITED ABOUT THE NEXT CHAPTER! Please review quick, so I can post quick, okay? As an extra hint...well...I'm trying **_**very**_** hard be clever with my wording and keep this story from going M-rated. ;p**


	36. The Things We Wanted

**...SO EXCITED, I'VE BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS CHAPTER FOR MONTHS!**

* * *

**Behind-the-scenes! Again! This is getting kinda stupid.**

"Hey, Grubbles," Trouble cheered as he walked into the break room (a.k.a. Kit's living room), holding the author's netbook. "One more chapter after this one, and you star in the longest Artemis Fowl fic on the site!"

"Grubbles" sat on the couch, staring straight ahead, eyes dead, another laptop open on his lap. It whirred ominously, though this was mostly because the fans were blocked by Grub's pants.

Trouble blinked and looked across the living room to Lili, who was humming nonchalantly. "What's up with him?"

She shook her head slowly. "He read something by one of the boss's friends. That Xybolic woman."

Frowning, Trouble sat next to his brother, taking the computer away. He scrolled to the top of the page and read quickly.

Three minutes later, Holly walked into the break room, maintaining the maximum distance between herself and her secretary. She only braved addressing her when she noticed Grub and Trouble Kelp on the couch, frozen, faces ashy. "What's up with them?"

Lili shrugged. "Fanfiction is a terrifying place."

"The hibiscus..." Trouble whispered. "Is...is..."

Grub dissolved into sobs.

Holly scowled at Lili. "This is revenge, isn't it?"

The blond shrugged, playing with her hair. "Be happy I was so lenient. I was going to show them 'Compensation'."

Holly shuddered. "You evil bitch..."

* * *

**Song: "Already Gone" by Kelly Clarkson**

* * *

**Chapter 35: The Things We Wanted**

**Week 30-Part 2**

They eventually moved inside. Grub had flitted about the kitchen like a hummingbird, preparing a pot of herbal tea in the hopes of calming Lili. The tea now sat cold on the table, not even flavored with the tiny pitchers of honey and milk.

Lili held her head between her hands, fingers tugging at bits of hair. "I told her I would..." She whimpered.

"I...don't think she was really thinking about what she was doing," Grub said, rubbing his neck.

Lili slammed her hands to the table, making Grub cringe. "Is that supposed to make me _feel_ better?"

"No! I just...I mean, she wasn't...planning it." He finished lamely, desperately wanting to look away, but forcing himself to face the argument.

"And would _that_ have made me feel better if she _had_ fucked you!"

"I wouldn't let her!" He sighed, shaking his head, "Look...that was...I didn't want that. And I'm not going back, even for a night. I...I hate to ask, but can I stay here? Just until the apartment is ready?"

Lili did not answer for a long time, and Grub began to worry that she was about to throw him out. He wasn't sure where else he could go.

Then she nodded. "Yeah..." She smiled. "Yeah, great idea. You can stay with me, and..." She sat up straight. "It's a _great_ idea. Come on, let me show you where you can put your things."

Grub's eyebrows went up as they both stood. "Won't I be in the same room as last time?" He gathered his bag and the few items he hadn't been able to stuff inside. It was not enough to get through to Monday comfortably, but he would manage. He would buy some new clothes to avoid a return to the Wing Commander's house, if necessary.

Lili held out a hand and was soon twining her fingers with her partner's, pulling him after her down the wide, sumptuous main hall. There were stairs leading up to the unused upper floor, but she ignored these. She made for the back of the mansion. "No, not there. That's not the best guest room. And I want to be a good host."

"Oh...okay." Grub returned. He couldn't help but grin at this bit of socialite nicety from the woman who had done so much in the past few decades to piss off the upper class. If not for being the last major Frond, she would undoubtedly be hounded by the Principality Hill homeowners' association.

Then he noticed that they had passed all of the doors. All but one.

He craned his head about to look at the last guest bedroom. "Lili? Um...aren't I—"

"No," she said quickly, pushing in the last door. The most ornate door in this area of the mansion.

"Oh," Grub said dumbly. He finally understood.

Lili's bedroom was enormous, and it appeared she couldn't think of much to do with it. There was no television or computer desk. All of her books were in the main library, her clothes in the walk-in closet, and she had no space-intensive hobbies to speak of. There were a few random chairs that looked amazingly comfortable, along with other random bits of furniture, but the only thing Grub could see was the bed.

"Oh," he said again as he was dragged across the floor.

Then he yelped. Grub didn't even have time to look behind him. He felt the backs of his knees hit the side of Lili's bed, and then he tumbled over, arms flying behind him in an attempt to break his fall, losing grip of his bag. He instinctively braced for a rough impact, but he needn't have worried.

The mattress was phenomenally soft, covered in a thick, pure white comforter, headed by a bevy of puffy white pillows. It was undeniably a girl's bed, the canopy topped with gauzy curtains that would do nothing to block sight if they were drawn, but which still seemed to promise a welcoming envelopment to whatever inhabitants there would be.

Although..._"girl's bed"_ was perhaps not the correct word, when Grub considered it. _Woman_. Undeniably a woman.

Lili proved this by following him onto the sheets, laying a hand on Grub's chest to push him further along in front of her until they were both completely on the enormous mattress, residing roughly in the center. Here, she took her hand away from his chest, dropping both hands to either side of Grub's waist. Finding her mate sufficiently immobilized, Lili swooped in, catching his lips with her own. Unlike the attack of hours before, he found himself responding to her, mouth opening and groaning at the touch of her tongue along his lips.

She worked quickly. To be honest, with the skill of someone well-versed in what she was doing. She focused on Grub, at first, removing his jacket and tossing it aside, then letting her fingers fly through his buttons, pushing the man's shirt off his shoulders, also letting that fall to the wayside, exposing a smooth, barely defined chest. Then she stopped working on him, advancing so that she straddled the male's hips, pushing his chest so he fell back on the bed.

Grub looked up at her, mouth open. He wasn't breathing. The white pillows pressed against his ears, dampening the sounds of the world, making Lili's soft laugh almost disappear. He could feel his pulse shooting up.

It was too soon. The apartment...

Lili had tossed her jacket aside when she entered the room, so that did not hinder her as she grabbed the bottom of her blouse, lifting it with both hands. As she passed her ribs, Lili tucked her fingers under the wire of her bra, removing both garments in one move. She threw them to the side, looking down at Grub as her hair fell back around her shoulders and slowly settling breasts, so soft and light, matching the shining nature of the room. Like a goddess of inescapable power, as she knew she always looked in these moments.

Grub moaned. "Frond above and below..."

Lili laughed, leaning down, resting her hands on Grub's shoulders, her breasts brushing against his chest. "I _told_ you to never use my ancestor's name in vain."

He swallowed, taking his eyes from the most obvious center of focus and looking at Lili's face. "Sorry. It seemed appropriate."

She shook her head, and her hair fell further, brushing against the man's chest as she crawled back down his body. "It is _not _appropriate. I mean...I'm _only_ above you, at the moment." She bit her lip, and her hands began to move further, past Grub's ribs, onto his stomach, which she found to be harder than she expected, though not visibly toned. "Although we can certainly _change_ that. First, though..." She came to his pants, flipping the buckle open, popping the button free, and lowering the zipper with the same skill she displayed on his shirt. She made a mental note to be slower, in the future, but she needed this _badly_, so seductive undressing could be bypassed this first time.

Then the trousers were off and she purred low in the back of her throat, moving back up her partner's body, making sure all of her skin ran across just one very important part of his. She bit Grub's neck, revelling as he gasped at the slight pain, and then he did so again, louder this time, as her hands rested on the inside of his thighs and journeyed up. Up and up, over the edge of his boxers ("Oooo...chili peppers...not a bad choice."), and closer and closer, until she finally reached her goal.

Grub whimpered. "L-Lili! Wait a second, I..._gods_..."

Lili blushed. She hadn't blushed at this sort of moment in _years_. To keep the man from seeing the coloring, she continued biting and kissing his neck, murmuring around it. "We've been dating for over two _months_. Don't make me wait, _please_...I want you so badly."

Grub squirmed. "L-Lili, I—"

She sighed, fingers tickling expertly. "Don't worry. Just relax and let me...take care of you." She didn't feel the need to explain things, as her head was already moving down his chest, placing light kisses on each rib, tongue dragging across his abdomen. The boxers disappeared with one quick movement.

Grub got his arms under him, lifting his chest from the bed, scooting up the mattress until his back was against the headboard. "Lili, really, I think—"

"I've _got_ it, Grub." She growled, grabbing his hips before they escaped, keeping her head close. Nuzzling.

"Lili!" Grub shrieked, grabbing her shoulders and yanking the woman up his body. "_STOP!_"

She gaped at him. "What?" She came to a conclusion and huffed in frustration. She felt almost insulted that he could be thinking she was that daft! "Gods, Grub, I'm not _stupid! _I'm on the pill, okay? On time, completely safe. Don't worry!"

"No, no!" He yelled, shaking his head. "I can't _do_ this, Lili!"

She laughed. She couldn't move back down his body, so instead she shifted up, straddling Grub's lap, running both hands through his hair, brushing against his ears. "Oh, come _on_. I want it, and you've not gotten any in _months_, so I _know_ you need it. Just let me..." She took one hand away from his head, letting it drift between their bodies, searching him out.

He whimpered, pushing her again, but what little strength he'd gained from his training for the exam was lost when faced with the persistent blond beauty. "Lili, _please_, I can't...oh, _fuck_!" His hips moved involuntarily, resulting in further unrestrained noises.

She gripped and purred when she felt the reaction. Just a little nervous, after all. Very, very soon, he would be putty in her hands. Or the opposite. "Of _course_ you can! Why not?"

Grub closed his eyes and screamed."_Because I don't love you!"_

Lili froze.

As did Grub.

A full minute later, he swallowed, licking his lips. "Lili, I...I...I..."

"O..._kay_..." Lili said, dismounting gracefully. She moved several hands away, sitting with her back to the headboard, just like Grub, hands folded on her lap. She looked at the canopy of the bed, tapping her feet back and forth as she tried to think of something. She racked her brain for previous experience, and found that she had never come across a male that wasn't more than willing to bed her, love or no. In fact, love seemed a non-issue to them, most of the time. To her, as well, for the matter.

She finally began with "That's...um..." Special? Honorable? _Frustrating as hell?_

"I'm _sorry_," Grub cried up, curling into himself, holding his head between his hands. "I just...look, I don't want to do that again! Without someone I know I love, I mean. I did that once, and I _hated_ it!" He groaned, rocking. "Not that I don't care about you, I _swear_, I do, but—"

"It's _okay_, Grub!" Lili broke in, laying a hand on his back. "Really, it's fine." To be honest, her body did not agree with that sentiment. She enjoyed sex, there was no denying, and she was in the middle of an uncommonly long dry spell. Even before choosing Grub as a partner, it had been a few weeks since someone had caught her eyes. Being shot down...well, she was _not_ pleased, on a purely physical level, but mentally she could control herself. For now.

She did her best to put him at ease. "Don't feel bad. I mean, after all of the guys who want to sleep with me, even though they don't even _know _me? It's...sort of refreshing." She would have preferred _satisfying_ over _refreshing_, but Lili kept that tidbit to herself.

When Grub didn't respond, just slowly shaking his head, she went on. "We don't have to do this now. I can wait." She paused, thinking about how odd those words felt in her mouth. When was she last in a relationship where "waiting" was involved? For the matter, what was her last _actual_ relationship? "We'll give it some time. We can date some more, get to know each other better, see what happens. I mean, love..." She laughed, but immediately regretted the sound when her proposed lover flinched. "It's not like they say in the romance novels and movies. It's not 'at first sight.' It..._forms_." She felt rather proud of that speech. It was the kind her mother would have given when middle-child Lili was just getting her feet wet in the dating pool.

"It won't," Grub whispered, getting even smaller as he knocked her reassurances aside.

"Oh, come on," she protested, running the risk of scaring him by leaning sideways and wrapping an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close to her body in the hopes that he would momentarily forget their state of dress and get comfort from being close to someone. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Because..." He raised his head, and their faces were close together, but there was none of the passion between them that she thought she had felt before. Instead, tears were in his eyes and streaking down his face. He looked ashamed, and then looked away. "Because...I don't think I can be in love with two women at the same time, Lili."

She frowned, mouth slightly open as she prepared to ask what he meant.

Then she understood, and her face loosened. "Oh...oh, Grub..."

"I didn't lie! I wanted to be with you! I wanted to be in a relationship with you!" He bit his lip, eyes closed, letting his tears fall on both of their exposed skin. "I know you...like me. And I really like you, but...I can't _stop._ I _want_ to stop, but I _can't!_" He sobbed, thumping his head back on the wooden bedframe. "I'm sorry...gods, Lili, I'm so sorry."

She wanted to be mad at him, and maybe a part of her was: the part of her that had told Lili that she couldn't wait until the weekend had passed to claim her new mate. She shook her head. "But...I don't get it. Why did you say you were ready once the move was done?"

"I thought...if I got away, if I was _going_ away, and I wasn't going to be close to her anymore, I wouldn't feel this way anymore. Or I could just..._force_ myself to do it. But it hasn't happened. I haven't changed." He groaned in pain, fists clenched. "The only thing that happened is that I...I wound up leading you on, and...I didn't mean to!"

Grub finally looked up, meeting Lili's eyes. She wasn't crying yet. That would come soon enough. Not as violently as the man was currently sobbing, but deep and destructive in it's own way.

"I'm sorry, Lili...I _wanted_ to fall in love with you...so much. You're amazing, and spending time with you has been wonderful. Falling in love with you...it would be...so much..._easier._"

She took her arm away, wrapping it over her exposed breasts. _Exposed_. Not bare. Not waiting. Not enticing. Exposed. Refused. And not on a physical level. In some way that was all the harder to overcome. Impossible to overcome.

"I am...such an idiot," Grub whispered.

"Yeah," Lili finally choked, eyes burning. "Yeah. You are."

* * *

Vinyáya normally slept quite deeply, but she didn't have long to get into her dreams when the front door opened, snapping her back into the waking world. She sat up, glancing at her clock. What in the world was going on? Who in the world would be coming home at this hour?

"...oh."

She flushed at _why_ she expected her tenant to be gone. Then her curiosity was peaked. Why was he home?

After years in secret operations, Vinyáya was a master of stealth, and a rounding stomach wasn't changing that. She got out of bed and padded to the door, turning the knob slowly to muffle the clicks. Opening the door a fraction, she put her ear next to the crack.

"—really sorry...if there's anything I can do..."

Lili sighed. "No, it's fine. We're good, really."

Grub was silent for some time. Then: "So...are we still...carpooling together?" Nervous laughter, which died off quickly. "Heh...heeeeee..."

A similar pause. "I...that's not a good idea. Sorry, it's just..."

"Weird?"

"Yeah. I hope you don't mind."

"No, no. It's cool, really. It's not that far. I mean...well...with traffic, walking might be quicker."

Bell-like laughing. "Maybe." Silence. "Are you...sure you want me to leave you here?"

"I...where else _should_ I go?"

"Yeah...I guess you're right. Just...take care, okay? And...well, if you ever want to hang out...just come see me." A nervous cough. "Or, you know, if you need anything I can help with. Never know when connections up on the Hill will help you get in somewhere you need to go."

"Yeah...thanks."

Shuffling noises. Patting. A hug, Vinyáya realized. More shuffling as they parted.

Lili coughed again. "Well...bye."

"Bye..."

Footsteps. A car engine, which soon faded into the distance. The click of a door closing.

Vinyáya pulled her own door closed, easing the doorknob back into place, holding her breath as the final click came. Then she tiptoed back into bed.

She did not go back to sleep.

Vinyáya thought about what she'd heard for a long time.

Eventually, she smiled. And felt horrible for that smile. But she could not wipe it away.

* * *

**Preview: "To my left I saw the time/ flash and fall, it seemed to swallow you./ I could love you like the sister/ I never had./ Drawing circles in your concrete/ I will know your every move./ And I'll send you/ I'll send you..."**

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**New poll on my profile! "After Chapter 36 of "In Another's Eyes," do you want to kill Kit?"**

**Go! Review frantically, then vote!**


	37. I Could Never Find Another

**Hey, it's my birthday! Reviews, plz!**

**And, if any of you are confused about continuity with Colfer and the last section of this fic, you have not been paying to my defiance, as seen in _Fowl Ties_. More at the end notes.**

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**Song: "Undercover" by Pete Yorn**

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**Chapter 37: I Could Never Find Another**

**Week 31**

Grub was scared out of his wits as he prepared to go into work on Monday. There were enemies everywhere. Lili could flip out in front of the entire Plaza. Holly could use her ninja skills to neuter him without warning, or proper anesthetic. His own brother could sketch mystical genitalia on his back or, even worse, his _face_.

Commander Verres was the least of his worries. Until Grub stepped into his private office and found the man waiting in the guest chair.

"C-Commander!" Grub snapped to attention, saluting.

"Yes, yes," Verres sighed, returning the gesture and setting the captain free. "Sit, please. I believe we need to talk."

Well trained puppy that he was, Grub did not mention that this was his office, and he should have been the one offering a seat, instead complying instantly. He broke out in a sweat as the pixie looked him over.

Verres was blank, and that made his little sigh unreadable. "I had to scrap that bike, you know. Do you have _any_ idea how much an LEP-outfitted magna-bike runs?"

Grub was willing to bet it was more than his skin. "N-no, sir. But she..." He stopped himself when the commander's eyes narrowed "I...would rather it hadn't happened, but I can't change it, now."

"Odd thing to say," Verres mused, tapping a single nail on the metal frame of the chair, making it ring, the sound cut off when he left his finger pressed to the surface. "Is this generally how you react to things?"

Grub couldn't help but laugh. Oh, did he ever. Living with his mother for decades past his majority was not a wise decision, in retrospect. Becoming the least-liked fairy in the force outside of IA was certainly less than desirable. Stringing along the most amazing woman in all Haven, second-besting her to the cruelest choice he could make, both in the woman and for himself...

Grub let his eyes drop to the desk, and they were drawn by habit to the far corner, where a digital photo frame cycled slowly through his album of favorites. It was a small album. Only four pictures.

One was of his father, and he looked amazingly young. Grub reflected that this was mostly because he _was_ so young when the picture was taken. About as old as Trouble was now. It was a formal shot, and the new major's hair was so crisp and flat on the top that you expected to be able to balance a pen on it's pointy end and not see it sink in.

The next picture also included the man, plus his two sons, all three piled into the front seat of the cherry red convertible that would one day be part of Trouble's inheritance. They all wore dark black sunglasses, trying to look cool and disapproving. Grub was failing terribly, based on his brightly shining teeth, though 30-year-old Trouble was on the verge of losing it, as well, his smirk showing faint echos of his wicked future.

Then a somewhat over-exposed shot of Grub wearing his first set of dress greens, flanked by his similarly-suited brother and formally attired mother. They stood in front of the memorial statue outside Police Plaza, and a crowd of other graduates and family members milled out behind them. Trouble was mussing up Grub's once-neat hair, his own chin-length shag and goatee making him still seem the more unkempt of the two. Grub was scowling at his brother, but his eyes shone with pride, despite the minor annoyance, matching the single gleaming bronze acorn on his chest.

The last was about as blurry as you could get and still identify the the image therein. On the top of the picture was a lot of text—mostly numerical, and all indecipherable. The borders of the image were a cold blue, reflecting the relative temperature of the area, which was fairly warm, but not quite so much as the center. Dr. Ginko had spent a good three minutes adjusting the settings to get that border, and then the yellow body floating within, surrounding a tiny flash of red for the fetus's heart.

"Sometimes," Grub finally answered, looking back at Verres. "Not always." He smiled.

Verres studied this contented look and snorted dismissively. Once he stood, he had to look down at the elf, and his frown seemed to deepen with the angle. "You do not belong on a bike, Captain."

Grub couldn't agree more, given his latest incident. He nodded a few times, leaving his head hanging at the end. "I understand, sir."

"So you'd better get used to your new desk, because I don't want to see you out from behind it again." He glared. "Ever."

Sitting up straight, eyes widening, Grub spluttered. "B-but sir! I thought...I mean...I _crashed!_"

The old man pursed his lips. "What part of my speech about needing office workers did you _not_ understand?"

"I-I understood it all." His expression said otherwise. "I just thought..."

Verres moved towards the door, shaking his head, leaning on his cane a bit more than usual. "You're good at what you do, Captain. It would be a daft commander that would make you do otherwise."

At the wall, the pixie paused, seeming to be closely inspecting the office's slipshod alterations. He chuckled, turning back to the still-flabbergasted man. "Your transfer will take a few weeks. The office waiting for you is comparable, but..." He brought his cane back, rapping it against the boards, creating a hollow wobbling noise as the glass on the other side was also hit. "You _will_ have windows, Captain. I suggest you complete whatever 'collaboration between departments' you have planned before the move, as I will not approve of that in my department."

Grub tried to assure the man that his "collaborations" were quite done, or that he was offended, or even that the sessions had proved very "fruitful," if he got the courage up to be cheeky. Instead, he blushed and nodded, rising to exchange the farewell salute with the man whom would soon be his direct superior

Once alone, he collapsed back to his chair, letting out a few strained giggles. He looked about the room, feeling suddenly wistful. He sort of wished he could take the commander's suggestion. He was going to miss this office.

* * *

Holly apparently waited to listen to the whole story from Lili before executing her revenge promise, as Grub managed to escape swallowing his own "equipment." Although he did almost have a panic attack in the break room, when her slitted eyes focused on him at his arrival. Grub beat a retreat even before his coffee was flavored. Then he spent the next half of the day wincing like he'd poured low-cost whiskey every time he sipped the black brew.

Holly gave some sort of abridged version to her superior officer, Trouble, and likely did so with a lecture on filial love and vandalizing other's bodies. Trouble said little to his brother that week, and the only thing that hurt the young man more than the silence was the looks Lili gave him whenever they encountered each other in the halls. Grub had a sudden and deep empathy with pond scum.

The Captain was so caught up in Retrieval's sudden decision to dump all excess paperwork on him—in some sort of effort to get the backlog done before he disapepared—that he failed to notice the missing call on Monday. Then Tuesday. Even Wednesday. He had the vaguest notion that something was off come Thursday evening, but only recalled what when the phone rang and he glanced at the number before pressing it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Good evening, Mr. Kelp! It's Jarvis, from Lionel Court, calling about your apartment."

"Ah," Grub replied neutrally, flicking his stylus between two fingers.

A pause on the line showed that the landlord was not so dense as to miss the tone, but the voice that responded was full of cheer. "I just got off the phone with your forensics team. They cleared the unit for rental!" He paused again, anticipating.

Grub studied his hands, considering this news. "That's good to hear."

"If you want, I would be happy to stay open late, so you can come by to inspect the unit and complete the signing."

Grub looked at his clock. He'd arrived early that morning, to minimize the time he spent in the Plaza with the four scariest people in all Haven (excluding his mother). He would be leaving early, as well. "That won't be necessary."

"Then what is the best time for you, Mr. Kelp?"

Running a hand through his hair, Grub sighed "I...was thinking." He swallowed, closing his eyes. This was, doubtless, going to be the stupidest decision of his life. It seemed those were being regularly surpassed, however, so he trudged forward. "I'm sorry," Grub said, shaking his head, even though the landlord could not see. "My circumstances have changed. I wont be moving. You can stop holding the apartment for me."

"Mr. Kelp!" The pixie squeaked indignantly, and he could be heard moving things about on his desk, putting them down with more force than was really necessary. "I have kept this apartment on hold for you for a _month_ now!"

"No," Grub responded, feeling his hackles rise at the repetition of "mister," "you kept an unrentable _ruin_ on hold. You lost no money by doing that. In fact, if you advertise this apartment today, I'm sure you'll have three renters lined up by lunchtime There _is_ a housing shortage, isn't there?"

"You..." The sound the pixie made was so odd that Grub doubted even his well-trained brother could identify it. "You will lose your application fee, Mr. Kelp!"

He'd been having a hell of a week, so Grub was not in the mood to put up with such a ridiculous threat. That check had been cashed weeks ago, and he had long considered the money gone. Perhaps he was being petty, but petty felt good. "Oh, dear, a whole gram of gold. Well, just add it to whatever bribe you give to the city inspector to have him pass your 'testy' elevator. It looks like he's scheduled for arrival tomorrow." He was taking the phone away from his head to hang up, but quickly pressed it back. "And it's 'Captain Kelp,' civilian!"

The manager was shrieking as Grub took the phone from his ear, mouthing "bye bye" as he hung up. Before the pixie had a chance to call back, he hit the power button, putting his cell to sleep. He'd have to call the cell carrier to get that number blocked, no doubt. Tossing the phone to his desk, Grub leaned back in his chair to indulge in a little grin. Now he understood why Fowl enjoyed that kind of thing. It was a wonder that elf wasn't more cheerful, seeing how often he acted like an asshole.

Speaking of...

Grub picked up his office line and speed-dialed. When a female voice answered, he grinned. Maybe he could act charming like Fowl, as well.

"Winny! I haven't talked to you in a long time. How's the imps?"

The demoness Winifred did not answer at first, and Grub suddenly had the mental image of her taking the phone from her ear and looking at it and then the caller ID, to make sure she hadn't misunderstood her computer alert. "Um...just like their father. If it's not lightning, it's fire. Um...can I _help_ you, Captain?"

Grub got the distinct impression that her "help" involved jackets that zipped up in the back. "I need to speak to your boss. Fowl."

"Regarding?"

Grub tapped the side of his nose. "An arrangement."

"Uh...huh. I'll see if he's available."

Grub was put on hold, instantly wincing as a recording of Foaly singing the latest Riverboat hit brayed directly into his ear. He'd hoped the centaur would have caught on by now as to why all his callers were so amused, of late. It was a whole month since Artemis had implemented the change, after all.

Speaking of the Devil (and, if anyone in Haven was the Devil, it was Artemis Fowl), the genius decided to show his tail, answering the phone with a sharp "What?"

"Fowl," Grub said seriously, dropping the charm and ignoring the rude snap. "What do I need to do to get a city inspector down to Lionel Court tomorrow?"

It felt _damn_ good to be so bad.

* * *

Trouble Kelp was an almost daily visitor on Principality Hill. He'd long ago gained the privilege of being admitted on sight, and there wasn't a guard that didn't know about the elf, or speculate about just what exactly he and Lili Frond did when they were alone in that mansion. Most guesses would have made even Trouble blush. It was best he didn't know, though. He had a big enough ego.

So he was waved through the gates with no questions when he arrived on Friday, after his shift had ended. He'd been avoiding the mansion since Grub began dating Lili three months ago, as he long ago resolved to do whenever the woman got into a serious relationship, to avoid possible misunderstandings. Which meant that, during their entire time knowing each other, Trouble Kelp had avoided visiting his best friend for a total of...three months.

She wasn't that great at forming relationships.

She also, apparently, was not very good at dissolving them. Trouble was sure he wasn't going to enjoy this.

He'd been held up that evening, performing a few tasks that _only_ the Commander of Retrieval could do (bollocks, he said, but tell that to the Council head and see how well it goes over), but it wasn't really that different from any other Friday evening. Unless stated otherwise, Lili would be waiting for him to pick her up for a night on the town. She rarely over-drank, being prone to blackouts and poorly chosen "royal consorts," but it took a lot longer for alcohol to leave her system than it took Trouble, which meant he was her designated driver.

He had a key to the mansion, but found the front door unlocked when he arrived. She'd always been bad about that. Granted there hadn't been any serious crime on the Hill since Cahartez had his little debacle, and that hardly counted. Still Trouble frowned, closing the door behind him and doing up all of the locks, minus those few magical ones that required a member of the Frond family to throw the metaphysical (meta-magical?) switch. "Lili?" he called over his shoulder.

"Parlor," she sang back in a warbling, off-key voice.

Trouble cursed. She liked singing, yes, but not at every little thing, like an opera diva. If she was doing that... He began walking towards the overly-decorated room.

He found Lili draped over a long, velvet-covered, gold-framed fainting couch, one arm lolling back to play with the teeth of an enormous ebony statue that seemed to depict a cross of enraged lion and rabid dog. She had apparently succeeded in getting herself ready for a night out, wearing a pair of skin-tight black pants with a little glitter to the material, along with a simple green tee that ended three inches short of fully clothing her, exposing a soft expanse of light brown skin. She was tracing her abdominal muscles with the bottom of an open beer bottle, the condensation leaving wet trails across her ridges.

She looked over at Trouble and smiled, wriggling her toes in sudden pleasure. "Hello, Commander." She batted her eyes, which were pained a shining green, bringing attention to the small silver stars she had painted from the corner of her right eye and across the curve of her face, down the the more pronounced and endless curves of her chest. "I've been waiting."

"It looks like you started without me," he grumbled, looking at the many bottles laid out on the black granite coffee table before her. "Is this all, or have you managed to toss some of the empties already?"

Lili scowled and sat up. She brushed at her hair—now held up loosely with a gold and emerald claw clip, free ends flirting about her cheeks—and took a deep breath, preparing to defend her honor. "Look, just stand still a moment, you ass..." She squinted at him. Holding up the beer, she aligned it with Trouble's spine, making sure he was stable in her vision. This proved a lost cause when she began to drift sideways, ruining her aim.

Trouble rolled his eyes and eyed the half-empty bottle, trying to recall the last few times he had seen the woman this inebriated. She was wasted enough that he could keep her from getting to any more liquor, so long as he didn't join her in a drunken stupor, but he really wished she would put that one down. "You're done, I think. Come on. You're going to get some nightclothes on, drink a big glass of water, and go to bed. I've got to run out and find some hangover remedies, it seems."

Lili stood, swaying a moment, and put a steadying hand against her head. "No, I wanna—oof!"

Her knees went out, and the princess was about to take a very unroyal fall when she found herself held up around the waist by a pair of very strong arms.

"Dammit, Lili. Help me here," Trouble grunted, heaving upwards until Lili managed to stand again, using him as a support, though she was still only a few pounds away from pure dead weight. He put a hand to her forehead, making it tilt back so he could inspect her eyes. "Okay, when did you start drinking?"

"I think," Lili slurred, shaking free from his inspection with a pout, "that the better question is 'when did you stop?'"

"Oh, fantastic," Trouble muttered. He shifted the woman again until she was standing completely on her own, with only his hand on her back in case she tipped over again. It was better for her to fall forward onto him than backwards and crack her head open on the furniture. The very expensive, very uncomfortable, very stain-able furniture. "You need to go to sleep."

"How do _you_," Lili hissed, poking Trouble's chest with the bottle's lip, "know what _I _need?"

"Years of experience," Trouble tried to joke, but the quip seemed to fall flat on the woman.

"Experience. Psh. _Experience_." She shook her head, freeing more strands of long strawberry hair. "I have _slept around_ just as much as you for almost as long as you, remember? I've seen you this...I'm not drunk," she said, changing tactics midway. Her eyes crossing for a second as she looked at his face did not help her argument.

"Sure. But you need to go to bed."

"Shh shh shh," Lili hushed, waving the index finger that helped hold her beer bottle at Trouble's nose. "No no no. Shhhhhh..." She giggled. "I know...what I need." She grinned, rising to her tip toes to help her look Trouble in the eyes, leaning against the man's chest to help her stability. "Do you know...how often I fucked your brother?"

Trouble winced, pulling back from the beer breath. "No. I don't."

Lili grinned. "Heeeee...hehehe..." She poked Trouble's nose and spoke with exaggerated lip movements. "Ne...ver."

Trouble stared at her, certain he'd heard wrong. "You...?"

"Never!" She threw her hands in the air and wobbled, screeching and throwing her arms about Trouble's neck before she tumbled. "Nnnn...never. Three...months." She sniffled. "What's the longest you've gone without being laid, Trouble?"

He thought about that. Very carefully. He found that thinking was getting suddenly difficult. "Um...blowjobs count?" He suddenly wanted to smack himself upside the head for saying that word in front of Lili. Even if they had undertaken extensive conversations on the practice in the past, it was just the wrong thing for him to be mentioning, at the moment.

"Of course! You're a _guy_." She took a swig from her bottle and frowned. "He wouldn't even let me do that, you know? Pity. I've been told I'm...fu...fu...fucking _fantastic._"

Trouble gulped and stared at Lili's lips. There was a single droplet of ale left on the lower, refracting the light and looking so utterly delicious that he wanted to crane his head down and slowly lick it off. "I..."

"How long?"

Trouble was about to give an answer in inches before he recalled the specific subject of their discussion. "Oh...um...four months?"

"And?"

"Unpleasant?" Gods, he sounded like his brother. Which...could be to his advantage...no!

"_Exactly_," Lili whispered, resting her bottle against Trouble's chest. "It's really...really..._bad_." She shook her head, shuddering. "Don't like it. Nuh uh. So...get where I'm going with this?" She raised an eyebrow at her friend.

Trouble swallowed. He had a pretty good idea he did, though he replied with, "No." He really hated lying to this woman. He avoided it as much as possible, but now was one of those moments when it was best to lie his ass off.

The lie proved to be a bit ineffective, this time, as Lili was more than happy to bring on an enlightenment. "I...don't need...sleep." She pressed the cold beer bottle harder into Trouble's chest. "I need...something...better." The bottle began to slide down between them, making Lili shiver and hiss in a breath as it moved across her bare midriff. "And we both know...just exactly..."

Trouble shut his eyes as the bottle came between their groins, chilling his hardness. He really wished he wasn't being affected by this, but..._fuck,_ she felt good, and she was saying those.._.things._ There had to be some sort of rule about this: don't sleep with your little brother's ex until a period of time has passed that is no less than a third of the term of the relationship, or something. Did that still count if the ex was your best friend? He'd known plenty of guys that turned their friends into "fuck buddies." Those relationships didn't last longer than a year past the change, however, and that included the dissolution of the friendship.

"What...I need," Lili finished, grinding her hips against Trouble's, squeezing the alcohol between them, laughing lightly when she registered the equally thick, warm, hard thing next to the cold one. "I've had a three month dry spell, Trouble." She leaned in, nuzzling at his neck. "Mind doing the honors?"

Trouble groaned, moving back against her. The cold beer almost hurt, but she washed it away by feeling so gods-damned _hot_. "Lili, I...d'arvit..." He licked his lips, breathing hard, mind a jumble of desires and inhibitions.

"You're not answer-ing," Lili sang. She removed the bottle, swishing it in the commander's face. "Need a drink to help loosen your tongue?"

Trouble looked at the bottle, trying to think. With that drink up here, all he could feel was her body moving so perfectly against his. What would really be so wrong about it? Grub had taken his chance and then given it away. And if Lili really did need this—and, by the way she was acting, she needed it _badly_—wasn't it sort of a friendly thing to do to help her out? Just a few hours, and they could agree to forget the entire evening, once they woke up. If Lili even remembered...

He snatched the bottle from her, downing it in a single gulp, and tossed it to the coffee table, not bothering to fix the mess when it landed sideways and rolled off under the couch. He puffed out a breath, shaking his head. "D'arvit..."

Laying a hand on Lili's shoulder, he gave her a small shake. "You need to got to bed."

"Oh, good," she purred, nestling her head back into the curve of Trouble's neck, angling a bit up to lick at his earlobe. "Should I put on anything...special?"

"_Pajamas_, Trouble groaned, grabbing her hair and pulling the female away. "You're sleeping alone. I'll stay in the guest room."

"Good to know."

"I'm _locking_ my door!"

She pouted. The pout very quickly began to falter. From sullen acting, her lower lip began to tremble, and a real sheen came to her eyes. A drunk crying is never a pretty sight, but Lili pulled it off admirably. "Tr-Trouble...wh...wh...what is _wrong_ with you Kelps? Why don't you _want_ me?"

Trouble sighed, eyes rolling, and patted Lili's back. "Here it comes," he muttered.

She began to sob, now burying her head in his chest, thick tear-tracks soaking his shirt, soon joined by some little green circles as snot bubbles popped, made all the worse when she tried to snort the ooze back in. "Wh...wh...wh..._whyyyyyyyyy?_"

Trouble sighed and gave up on getting her permission. Kneeling, he tucked an arm behind Lili's legs, standing swiftly and taking her with him, bringing the woman up until he held her in both arms.

She shrieked, which managed to halt her crying, and threw her arms around Trouble's neck. For a moment, she squirmed, whimpering as she felt the earth leave her, and looked over her shoulder to determine how far away it was. Finding the answer somewhat acceptable, Lili turned her head back, and came across Trouble's face.

He swallowed, realizing how poorly this position had been thought through. Not wanting to give the sloshed woman enough time to think of how to take advantage of their position (he wasn't sure he could stop himself if she did figure out how close their lips were), he began walking to the bedroom, deciding that she could sleep in her clothes, so long as she didn't throw up on them.

Lili hiccuped a little sob, closing her eyes, and rested her forehead against Trouble's chin. "Why don't you _want_ me?"

Trouble sighed, kicking the door open. "I do, Lili." He was glad Lili had a poor drunk's memory. All of this would be gone by the morning, except for some feelings of anger and embarrassment, knowing that _something_ had caused those emotions, even if she didn't know what. He could come up with a story she would believe before it came time to discuss what had happened. So he decided to give a true answer, this time. "Just...not only once. Now, come on. Time to sleep."

"Oooo...beeeeeeed."

"Yes, Tiger Lily. Bed."

"I'm tired."

"I told you so."

"Still...wanna...fuck...you..."

"Me, too. Come on. You'd better not throw up on me."

"No...promises..."

* * *

Grub did not slide right back into the routine of living with the Wing Commander, despite his decision to pass on the apartment and remain her tenant. She barely saw him that weekend, as he only emerged to visit the lounge or get food. In fact, she had once been passing in the hall as he opened his door, and was startled when he slammed it again. She dearly hoped it was food he missed out on for the next two hours.

He seemed to be practicing some kind of exposure therapy, as she noticed him spending a little more time outside his room every night. Monday, he did the cooking. Tuesday, cooking and laundry, including folding in the laundry room. Wednesday, he ate at the dining room table, though he did so alone, as she rarely joined him for meals, finding that a bit too domestic for her tastes. Thursday, he was back in the living room, not ten feet from his landlord, and spent his time listening to some music through ear-bud headphones. Vinyáya suspected they weren't very high-quality headphones, as the man twitched whenever she moved more than an inch, but he did not flee.

Friday, he took down another barrier, spending his time watching Vinyáya's game instead of ignoring her completely

He had rather bad timing. The hormones were on the march. And not the ones that led to bad decisions on bikes. Pretty much every other type, though.

"Why," she said quietly, "are you _watching_ me?" Hot flashes of nerve ran across her skin as she angled her head to stare at the elf. She wanted to turn the chair so it's back rested between her and the man, as an extra barrier. What was he planning? What was his ulterior motive? He was there to sabotage her game, wasn't he!

"I'm not watching you," he rationalized, pointing at the television screen. "I'm watching the game. Careful, that one with the missing arm is going to jump." His chin rested on the end of the couch closer to the television, and his arms were pulled tight under his body, making them almost disappear.

Vinyáya returned her eyes to the screen, teeth bared. She hated the jumpers almost as much as the fast ones. It must be destroyed. "You're distracting me. Go...do...something."

Grub snorted. "Like what?"

"I don't know!" She expertly pirouetted her avatar, avoiding the leaper (leper, as well?), only to run into a nest of altered dogs just beyond. She felt tears come to her eyes, and gritted her teeth against them. "Go...get drunk with Frond, or something!" She immediately regretted the jibe, and it made the moisture in her eyes spill over. She shook her head as the man responded, her long hair soaking up the tracks.

"We _broke up_. You know that." He sniffed with great dignity. "Everyone knows that."

And everyone knew, from the looks Lili kept sending his way, who had done the breaking. Vinyáya found herself sneering. Mourning over the little Kelp boy. Stupid girl. Gods knew, the princess had probably blown better in the back room of some club. Someone like...

Turning and smiling with false sweetness, hoping that would be more effective, she tried another entertainment option for the intently focused captain. "Then call your brother."

"Oh, sure," Grub laughed. "And what shall he draw on me this time? Sodomizing dwarves?"

Vinyáya gagged at the image. "Oh, gods, what is _wrong_ with you?" Her stomach did a full flip, and she got to re-taste a little bit of that night's casserole

"Deeeeee-pressed." Grub pushed himself up, folding his arms under his torso and shifting to the side so he could actually look at his conversational partner, though he didn't bother to tuck back his hair, which fell across his eyes in a thick mass. "Why aren't you? Out, I mean. You haven't gone out anywhere for months, now."

"I," Vinyáya said in a superior tone of voice, "do not link my happiness to my ability to be courted every weekend."

"And why not?" Grub asked, yawning. It was still too early to sleep, but laying on the couch for the last few hours was doing a lot to make him tired. "I don't recall you _ever_ being one to date, even before we began sleeping together."

"Well," Vinyáya said in a false-airy tone, grabbing half of her hair and shaking the ends at him. "There's this. Seventy hit, this came, and there was this odd _plummet_ in interest."

Grub's eyes shook as he tried to focus on the larger clumps of hair, drawn to it almost like a cat. He blinked to get back to normal, giving the woman the distinct impression that she was lucky he hadn't taken a swipe at the locks. "The human thing? Really that bad?"

"More-so then than now," Vinyáya sighed. "There were more genuine hybrids when I was young. The last flings with the knights and ladies." She looked at her hair again, letting it sift out of her fingers. She suddenly felt as if a weight had been placed on her chest. As if she couldn't breath properly. As much as she had not wanted to cry only seconds ago, she now thought it would feel quite good, but didn't think she was even capable of tears. "Not many of them had kids, and they mostly had human lifespans. So, when they died off, some of the prejudice went with them, and people stopped passing around that stupid, unfounded rumor."

"And dating picked up again," Grub concluded, looking quite interested.

Laughing, Vinyáya shook her head. "Gods, it's not that simple. There was climbing the ranks, then getting used to the Council workload, and..." She paused, looking at her fingernails.

Grub tilted his head to the side. "And?"

"And..." For a few seconds, she gritted her teeth against another inner explosion of rage, but soon relaxed. "Other things."

"Like—"

"And now this!" Vinyáya said swiftly, poking at her stomach to distract him. "I look like a hippo!"

"Psh," Grub said dismissively. "No, you don't."

"Oh, yes I do," Vinyáya argued, tugging at her shirt. It was one of the last per-maternity items she could still wear, and this had been a simple tee she wore when fixing her magna-bike. Thanks to fairy laundry practices, there were no grease stains, but it had a few dime-sized holes, through which one could see her sallow skin. "I'm hideous."

"You're not!" Grub yelled, pushing himself up and glaring at the self-depreciating woman. "You're beautiful!"

Vinyáya continued staring at her stomach, unable to bring herself to look at the man.

After a few seconds of stunned silence on both sides, Grub's body finally reacted, turning his face red and making him shrink back down on the couch. "I-I-I—"

"Oh, gods," Vinyáya choked, letting her head fall back to the chair's arm. "You...little..."

And she began to laugh, tears springing to her eyes unbidden. She clutched at her stomach, and tried to fight it, but her hormones had decided to take a very strong swing towards true hysteria, and they were not to be stopped. She could feel her face reddening as she lost all her extra air, and soon her laughter was just wheezes, and then the silent type that can only be felt. She even snorted once, and that was enough to make her pause, take a deep breath, and break into a few seconds of even louder laughter before being again silenced.

Grub sat up, pulling his legs up to the couch and holding his knees, chin resting between them as he watched the woman. "Thanks," he muttered petulantly. He watched her. Then, after a minute, he gave a small laugh and smiled. He'd seen her laugh a few times with Holly, and during the promotion dance she seemed full of tinkling, almost girlish giggles whenever an upper-class partner came along, but he'd never seen this. It was unhinged, yes. Still, even though he was being laughed _at_ and not _with_, he felt sort of proud at being the source.

When the point came where Vinyáya could not continue laughing without having a complete break from sanity, she reduced herself to tired moans and occasional chuckles, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Oh, gods, Kelp...you...oh!" She winced, grabbing at her stomach.

"What?" Grub said, that familiar squeak of terror in his query.

Vinyáya rubbed just above her navel, eyes closed tight as she fought off the moment of pain. "The baby kicked me again. I swear, it's out to get me."

"It...kicked?" Grub whispered.

"Yeah," she said, pushing against the back of the chair until her legs swung off the arm, sitting as a normal person would, still rubbing at her inner wound. "I think all the laughing woke it up."

"Oh...wow."

Catching the continued softness in her partner's voice, Vinyáya looked over, a brow raised in question.

Grub looked at her stomach, his expression...hungry, in some way. He didn't move, but his entire demeanor had changed from the depression of minutes ago. He was tight, somehow. Restrained. He shook minutely, squeezing his legs tighter to his chest. "Does that...happen often?"

Vinyáya suddenly realized that the redness of her laughter was not fading away. She ran a hand through her hair, blowing out her cheeks, trying to recall her grasp of Gnommish. "Um...yes, actually." She winced as what she was certain was a karate chop landed on her lowest rib. "_Especially_ when I'm trying to _relax!_" She glared at her stomach and poked it lightly, hoping for a reprieve.

Baby apparently got the message wrong. Deciding it was a game, it came back with an even stronger attack, making Vinyáya yelp.

From the couch, Grub chuckled softly, watching the exchange of blows between mother and unborn child. "Vindictive. Takes after you?"

"Actually," she snapped, a surge of testosterone in her system making her battle-fire light, "it seems just _desperate_ to touch me. Maybe it takes after _you!_"

Grub gaped, sent off-kilter by the mood swing. After a moment, he looked away, muttering.

"Oh, what was that?" Vinyáya sang, cupping a hand to her ear. "I couldn't quite hear your whining!"

"I said 'I haven't _touched_ you,' okay?" Kicking his legs out, Grub stood, picking up the few items he had brought into the living room in the off chance he would gain the motivation to entertain himself. "I know you don't _want_ me to, anymore, so I haven't, even though you let all of Police Plaza feel _our_ child move, and it's not fair that you use that against me!" He stormed from the room, making for the hall and his bedroom.

Vinyáya stared after him, stunned out of her sudden fury, trying to work out his run-on sentence. When she heard his bedroom door slam and the lock click, she was further shocked, and this time into movement. She took to her feet—if a bit wobbly from sitting so long—and looked around the living room, hoping for some convenient solution. Her mind raced to the drawer of miscellaneous items in the kitchen, and her feet soon followed. She tore it open, hands diving inside, tossing out spare screwdrivers, random wires, twisty ties, and an egg of silly putty (where in Frond's name did that come from?) before she came up with a thin, silver key.

With a purposefulness to her stride that she normally only showed in the Plaza, she stormed down the hall, shoved the key into Grub's lock, and kicked the door open.

In the middle of dressing for the night, pajama bottoms already on, but his shirt as yet absent, Grub spun, shouting down the intruder. "I _locked_ that door for a reason!"

Vinyáya held up the key, as if her tenant needed proof of how she gained entrance. "My house!" She barked the words out. She still had a bit of testosterone coursing through her, and it manifested in complete impulsiveness.

And that was why Vinyáya crossed the room and grabbed Grub's wrist. He jerked against the touch, but she was far stronger than he. With a thrill rushing across her skin, she yanked the young male to her.

And placed his hand on her stomach.

It took several seconds for Grub's expression to go from fury to confusion. He blinked at her, mouth open.

With his lack of response, Vinyáya was forced to spread Grub's fingers until they lay flat, cupping her roundness. Then she closed her eyes, waiting. Praying now was not the time that her child decided to be zen.

After a few seconds, she winced.

Grub yelped, his other hand flying up to rest beside the first. "W-was that...?"

"D'arvit," Vinyáya hissed, then nodded. "Yes. Phew...should happen again soon en-ow!"

"Holy shit," Grub breathed. "Hah...oh...oh my gods...I can feel it!"

"As hard as he's kicking, I'd damn well hoped so." Vinyáya bit her lips the second the words were out. She had been carefully avoiding the baby's gender, since her snooping. The man would _know_, now, and what would he think...?

After a long silence, Vinyáya slit her eyes open. She looked down, preparing for Grub's smug look.

She needn't have worried. He wasn't looking at her at all. Or, technically, he was watching a part of the commander, but it was obvious that the young elf was more looking _through_ her than _at_ her. His smile was soft, eyes matching. He had the demeanor of a blessed man before his loving god. He barely moved his hands, not wanting to lose the contact that allowed him to feel the smaller tremors within her belly, but just enough to let his fingers stroke her stretched skin, letting little bumps flare up at the periphery of his touch. When another strong kick came—this one not so harsh as to make Vinyáya react to the pain, though there was some—he laughed, eyes sparking. "Wow...got some kick."

That hunger he had shown a few minutes ago was back in him, and Vinyáya felt a sourness rise within her. It took several minutes to identify the feeling. And then she tried to push the knowledge away, sure she was jumping to conclusions. Yet the look in his eyes and the hollow in her heart were both undeniable.

_I'm a horrible mother, _Vinyáya thought, though it wasn't like this was the first time she had come to this conclusion. Given how unexpected this "blessing" was, she should have been breathing a huge sigh when she realized that the man was excited, rather than sneering at her and questioning the paternity. She couldn't think of even one of her previous lovers that would have risen to the occasion with such enthusiasm as Grub Kelp. And, yet, there it was. Insane and inescapable. Jealousy.

She tried to be kind about it; which was laudable, with her temper so swift to change. Coughing to get his attention, she leaned back a fraction. "Um...good?" She avoided the 'enough' she wanted to add, to show that his time was up.

Grub finally looked at her fully.

She felt her heart catch for far too many beats.

There was no alteration in his eyes. Looking at his former lover, for a moment lost in his own intense elven emotions, not trying to be strong and guarded, Grub gave Vinyáya the same longing, sorrowful, hopeful, worshiping look. He smiled after a moment, raising one hand to rub at the back of his neck, though refusing to remove the other, despite her minute retreat. "I never thought...it's...wow." He laughed again, running the hand through his hair, making it even more disheveled. "Wow! You have no idea, Vinyáya."

She couldn't help but join him in the laughter. "It's been inside me, so I've been getting used to it over time." Experimentally, she put a hand down on her stomach, right next to Grub's, one of her fingertips touching his, and waited. When another kick came, she exhaled a single, soft laugh. "That is pretty weird."

"This is really happening, isn't it?" Grub said, somewhere between uncertainty and sudden comprehension. He pressed on her stomach lightly, rubbing his hand across the taut flesh. "You...we're having a baby." He shook his head, smirking. "I finally see why my brother is having issues believing. I don't think I would, myself, if..." At another nudge against his hand, he nodded, as if agreeing with the unborn child.

"I'm still not quite sure," Vinyáya admitted. At Grub's alarmed look, she went on. "In, you know, a 'do I believe it' sense. I guess...it's going to happen, no matter what I think about it all." She tried to shrug off the unintended, deadly second meaning that her tenant seemed to have latched onto. "No going back, though. This kid's coming."

In tiny fractions, Grub relaxed. "Yeah. Not long, now.

"Vinyáya, I..." He swallowed, slowing his desire for impulsive speech. "Thanks for...letting me do this. I mean..." He leaned back, turning even redder. "Thanks for letting me touch you." He squeaked. "I mean...oh, man," he groaned, waiting for the next inevitable swing, both in moods and fists.

After a long moment, Vinyáya shook her head. "You're welcome," she said, head tilting a fraction to the side, a little self-satisfied smirk on her lips. "Just don't go groping me in the Plaza, like everyone else wants to. I have work to do, after all."

"Of course," he agreed, and with obvious effort, he took his hand away, breathing out as he did so. "You...um...look pretty tired. I know I am. We should go to sleep."

She swallowed, her eyes edging towards the man's bed before she wrangled her thoughts and line of sight. Taking a step back, she nodded. "Good point. I think we're both wound pretty tight, now."

Looking up at him again, Vinyáya decided that this was completely wrong. She had never seen an elf more relaxed in her life. She hadn't seen him this happy since the doctor revealed the child's gender. And...was _she_ the cause of that look on his face?

No, she decided. It was the child. There was no denying that it had always been the child that made him smile like that. After all, he had never given her such a look when they were in a tangle of sweating limbs and short breaths. If she received that gaze, then it was residual. Anything more was all her imagination.

"Good night, Kelp," she droned, turning her back on him.

"Sleep well," he implored.

Pausing, hand resting on the door frame, Vinyáya breathed deeply. She nodded. "Sure. You, too." Then, before anything else could be said to make her rethink this night, she was gone to her bedroom, locking herself inside.

* * *

"Sweetness...darling...oh, most radiant lovely one..."

Lili groaned, lashing about before her face, eyes still closed, hoping she would hit something. "Shut up..."

"Time to wake up, oh innocent flower," the voice came again.

"Trouble!" Lili screeched, punching a bit lower, and laughing in triumph as she came across something soft. "Will you shut up? I've got a damned hangover!" She brought her arm back to drape over her eyes, blocking what little light filtered through her lids. "Dammit, what club am I banned from this time?"

Trouble snorted. Lili Frond was never _banned_ from a club. Not in reality. One didn't ban the princess, and she had been remarkably good about her partying habits since Short had taken her on. "No club. You did this at home."

"Oh," she whimpered, disappointed that an amusing story hadn't come out of this pounding in her head. "How many did we have?"

"_We _didn't have anything to drink. _You_ seemed to have finished off a half-bottle of wine before going plebeian and attacking the better part of a case of beer." Trouble reached out, grabbing Lili's shoulder, using his significant muscles to pull at the woman, fighting for a sitting position. "I'm surprised you didn't spew everywhere. Come on, drink this. It'll help your head."

Petulantly, Lili cooperated with Trouble's efforts to get her seated, pushing against the mattress until she slid up to support her back against the headboard. She slit her eyes open, looking at the vile concoction that she was presented, it's olive-green complexion in no way improved by the tiny pink umbrella Trouble had placed on the edge. She whimpered at the sight.

"You _know_ it works, Lili. Drink it," Trouble said, then, taking on his Commander's voice, finished with, "_now_."

Giving him a look that quite clearly said he was an utter bastard for doing this to her, Lili took the drink and sipped. She immediately gagged, but kept her gorge down. That was one of the genius elements to this potion. Despite how utterly horrific it tasted, she had not once thrown it up. Granted, she was rarely given it unless she was done with her vomiting for the evening, so perhaps it was more incidental than an actual element of the ingredients.

A few seconds after the gagging stopped, she took a huge mouthful, forcing it down, and fanned at her open mouth, tongue hanging out, panting in a very canine manner. There was a strong peppery taste to the remedy, and it would alter the taste of food for several hours after being finished. "Gods, does this have to be so _nasty?_"

Trouble chuckled, patting Lili's shoulder, discretely grabbing the strap of her pink pajama top and moving it back into place. "It's a lot better than spending all day with a hangover, and it seems only fitting to have a bit of discomfort to remind you of how stupid you acted."

Lili froze, looking down into her drink, trying to determine if that was a whole garlic bulb she was seeing. "Um...how...stupid?"

"Pretty stupid," Trouble said airily. Too airily.

Lili flushed. They hadn't gone anywhere but the Mansion. Which limited her stupidity to the only other person in the room. She tried hard to remember what had happened. All that came to her was beer four, and then darkness thereafter. "Um...what did I do, Trouble?"

"Oh..." He blew out his cheeks, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Nothing much. You...um...insisted we have an arm wrestling match, said I was your _best friend ever_, insisted we watch the _Ballad of King Frond_ and cried all the way through...the opening credits." He tilted his head to the side, inspecting her. "I never knew you could be so emotional about directors and producers." At her incredulous look, he shrugged. "And then you insisted we rip our clothes off and go dive into the fountain. At the golf course."

Lili shrieked, covering her mouth with one hand. "Oh, gods, we didn't!"

"No," Trouble admitted. "I managed to distract you with my shiny keys. And then you finally reached your limit and decided it was time to go to bed."

"Oh, thank the gods," Lili whispered, leaning all her weight onto the headboard, finding that the lessening of her hangover (it was a damned good remedy, born over decades of partying like college fairies, and purportedly handed down by Manfred Kelp after his son managed to break into the liquor cabinet one weekend) and the mitigation of her ban from the golf club had sapped her of all strength. She took another drink and coughed, then sputtered as a good chunk of the slush went up her nose, clearing her sinuses for weeks to come. "Oh, gods...I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

"That's fine, Lili," Trouble said, moving to sit further up on the bed, his legs folding to a yoga-like position before him. "I'm just glad we didn't go out. That would have been...tabloid-worthy."

Lili nodded, breathing in deeply to clear the last of the liquid from her nasal passages, a less-than-appetizing rattle coming from her nose. "My good record continues," she said. She'd undoubtedly been in the tabloids all along, but the last few years she had avoided what Fowl called "Hilton-esque" escapades. She was almost getting a good name, in fact. "I guess we're staying in this weekend," she sulked, instantly feeling terrible. With this much alcohol in her system, going anywhere was out of the question, and she knew Trouble well enough to realize he wouldn't be leaving his friend behind to recover while he went out for fun. A very honorable guy, she mused, smiling behind her novelty umbrella.

"Well, yeah, but not just because of the drinking." Trouble smiled playfully. "I...uh...decided on something, last night. Something I've been thinking of doing for a long time."

Lili looked at him for a long time. If the booze had not taxed her system into minor shock, she would have felt a flush rise to her cheeks. "O-oh!" She lowered the half-finished drink, playing with the salt rim. She dipped her finger back into the goo to keep this bit of the remedy in place, wiping her finger off on the covers. It was time to wash them, anyway. Especially if Trouble meant...after all this time? "Um...what?"

"Something I've wanted to give you, but I wasn't sure if it was a good idea. And I've thought about it for _years._" He looked to the ceiling, still smiling, but avoiding her eyes, trying to be coy. "I think you'll really enjoy it. It seems...like something you need."

"Something..." She swallowed hard, sending the pepper flaring up again on her tongue. Lili's heart raced, and she found the last of her hangover was suddenly gone. She felt very, _very_ good, and she had a feeling she was about to feel a thousand times better. "Um...how about it, then?" She squared her shoulders, head held high. "I'm ready!"

Smiling, Trouble lowered his eyes to meet Lili's and licked his lips, making her pupils dilate a fraction. Then he licked his lips, pursing them together...and blew.

The whistle was piercing, though it only lasted a second, and Lili blinked twice rapidly as she tried to decide if he was summoning her. It was _so_ not going to work.

A second later, there was a series of very rapid clicks from the hallway outside Lili's open bedroom door, followed by panting and an exultant bark of "_Finally!_"

Something small and reddish burst into the room, knocking the door back, sending the rugs flying out of order as it blasted overhead. Whether it ever touched the ground was debatable. With a final, loud cry, the creature took to the air, covering the last five feet and landing perfectly in the middle of the pair of elves, it's arrival jarring Lili and spilling the drink across her chin.

The furry, smiling face looked up at her, blue eyes so pale that they matched the sunniest rays on the far-distant skies. It spent a moment panting, moving about to collect it's gangly limbs, and waggle it's butt with enough energy to drive a locomotive. Then it sprang.

"Mommy!" Barking, it's tongue came out, flashing across Lili's cheeks, lapping up the spilled hangover cure in the process.

A second later, with a yelp, the creature fell back. It paused a moment, pawing at its nose, and commenced sneezing, the motion so violent that it's entire head shook, floppy ears snapping.

Faced with this apparition, Lili did what any woman in the same situation does.

She squealed.

"PUPPY!" Wrapping her arms about the still-sneezing dog, Lili pulled it to her chest, rubbing one hand deep into the rust-red fur along it's back, then along the white sides, searching out the hidden spot that would make the dog's leg thump. "It's a puppy!" she said excitedly to Trouble, as if he hadn't caught on.

"Thought you'd like him," Trouble said, reaching out to rub behind the whimpering canine's ears. "Fronds are supposed to be good with dogs, right?"

Lili nodded enthusiastically, though "good with dogs" was a major understatement. The Frond clan was intrinsically tied to dogs, in the legends. After all, there was a reason that the Gnommish symbol for "king" strongly resembled the Egyptian jackel god, and not just because they were both associated with the underworld. It was how Frond had signed his name, when he was just learning to write.

"He's _gorgeous_, Trouble," Lili said, grabbing at the puppy's jowls (Trouble made a note to have her wash her hands before eating again) to turn it's face to her. There was something wolfish to the shape, though a bit kinder than its more primal cousins.

"Mommy?" The puppy opened its mouth for another canine smile, tilting its head to the side.

Lili felt her heartstrings pulled. "I...guess?" She smiled back.

"Mommy!" New parental figure thus confirmed, the dog went back into hysterics, wriggling about so violently that it soon escaped Lili's grip, though it remained on her lap, going between squirming on it's back, begging for a belly rub, and jumping up to lick at her face with another bark of "Mommy!"

Laughing, Lili tried to protect her face. She did not know how futile a gesture this was, but she would learn soon enough. "He seems to really like me!"

"You're very likeable," Trouble reasoned.

With a little explosion, the dog left Lili's lap and crashed into Trouble's chest, toppling him over and trying to clean his face, as well. "DADDY!"

Lili gaped. And then began to laugh so hard a bit of her hangover headache come back. "Oh, gods...oh, gods...really, boy?" She drummed her hands on the pup's rump, making his tail wag even faster. "Is that how it's gonna be?"

"Yeah! Yeahyeahyeah!" Jumping between them, the puppy looked back and forth. Overcome with the indecision on whom to accept lavish attentions from, he just gave up, flopping onto his back, stretching out his limbs to create the maximum surface area. "Tummy!"

They both obliged, Lili still giggling, and Trouble smirking. Eventually, he reached over and poked at the woman's nose, getting her attention. "So," he officiated, pointing at her chest, "Mommy," then to himself, with his thumb, smirking largely, "Daddy," and finally gestured at the dog. "Please, don't name him 'Baby.' I beg of you."

"Oh, that would be horrific," Lili agreed. She continued the rubbing, making the pup's eyes roll back in their sockets from the pleasure, tongue lolling out. "It's a boy, right?"

"Yep. Though you should get, um.._.those_ taken care of next week, the shop keeper said." Trouble jerked his head downward on the dog's body, feeling like a traitor to all men.

She winced in sympathy. "Okay..." Lili bit her lip, thinking. She inspected the dog carefully, looking for any unique patterns in the fur to give a fitting name, but the red and white coat was devoid of peculiarities Scowling, she tried to think of a suitable boy's name. Then she smirked, looking up into Trouble's eyes. "How about...'Shirley.'"

Trouble turned green. "Oh, no. Come on! That is _not_ a boy's name!"

"It certainly is! Mud Men used to name their sons 'Shirley'!"

"Yeah, like, two hundred years ago!"

Lili batted her eyes prettily. "Your mother seemed to like the name..."

Trouble stopped rubbing the dog's stomach, jabbing a finger at Lili's chest. "We agreed to never speak of that again."

"Oh, but it's such a nice name..."

"If you name this dog 'Shirley,' I am taking him back and putting in an accusation of animal abuse."

Lili pouted. "Fine..." Chastised thusly, she gave Trouble a curious look. It made him squirm a bit, and she began to wonder. "Trouble...?"

"Hmmm?" He said, smiling through clenched teeth, little prickles rising on the back of his neck.

"Why now?"

"Now?"

"You said you'd been thinking of getting me a dog for a while. Why now, all of a sudden?"

"Oh," he said, puffing out his cheeks. "I, uh...last night," he winced, "I guess it got me thinking. You were...pretty far gone. Not even in a cute way. I mean...we've both been trying to be good about the clubbing thing, lately, but..." He shook his head, suddenly seeming to deflate from his pride over picking the perfect present. "We're not exactly in the Academy, anymore."

Lili raised an eyebrow. "Feeling old?"

"Hardly. Feeling...immature." Needing to do something with his hands, he rubbed the underside of the dog's neck, slowly, as if that would help him contemplate his words, which needed to be chosen with the utmost care. "I'm a Commander, now, and you're just as much in the public eye as me, being a Frond and all. And, well...it seems like every month, Commander Verres makes some smart-mouth remark about an arrest Traffic made. Some drunk fairy that mentions our names, like what we do is an...excuse."

"Oh," Lili said, looking away. Verres hadn't said anything to her—no doubt some royalist feelings of loyalty—but Holly was certainly vocal about her disapproval. Besides complaining, there wasn't much her boss could do about the woman's wild ways, given that Lili was always fully functioning by Monday morning. Still, it had resulted in some of the recent efforts at reformation. "I...guess it does look pretty bad, huh?"

"Yeah," Trouble agreed. After a pause, he jumped forward. "I mean, that doesn't mean we can't keep going out and having fun! Just..." He looked down at the dog, drawing Lili's gaze along with him. "I figure knowing there's something a bit more complicated than an aquarium and a few potted plants waiting at home might help you be...less..."

"Stupid?" Lili suggested.

"Exactly." Trouble smiled, waiting to see if the woman would take offense. When she just snickered, he went on. "And I'd be watching myself, too. It wouldn't be fair if I was going around still being a drunken asshole."

"Oh," Lili said pensively. Then she nodded, smirking. "Well...maybe I should get you a cat, then," she concluded, in what she felt was a very logical way.

Trouble looked down at her, eyebrow raised. "A cat? Why a cat? Isn't this a bit switched, gender-wise?"

"I don't know," she said, casually, encouraging the puppy to sit up and undergo a closer inspection, lifting his ears and looking between his toes for any medical issues. She'd had a dog, once, before she went to the Academy, but it was more a family pet, and quite a lot smaller. The sort of dog you could drop-kick thirty yards (and sometimes wanted to, she admitted to herself, remembering the yapping). "If you're going to be responsible, then you'll need one." She leaned over, elbowing Trouble in the chest. "It's the last pussy you'll get in a while, after all."

"Why, you...come here!" Trouble laughed, grabbing Lili's wrist, trying to pull her to him, his free hand shooting towards her side, fingers wriggling as he prepared to inflict his revenge.

"No!" Lili screeched, leaning back. She had obviously been taking her lessons with Holly seriously, as she twisted her wrist about, breaking the strong man's grip before the tickling truly began. She pushed away from the headboard, jumping across the enormous bed, landing on the opposite side, ready to bolt, if necessary.

"Pup!" Trouble barked (literally, of course, going into the Haven canine dialect), pointing at the woman. "Face!"

Pup complied, with another cry for his mother, leaping after Lili. He hit her straight-on in the stomach, making both tumble off the side of the bed, landing with a sharp crash on the floor.

Trouble slid across the bed, looking over the edge of the mattress to make sure there were no injuries. When he saw Lili writhing on the floor, trying to fight the dog off, both laughing like school children, he threw his hands triumphantly in the air, laughing with such evilness that even Koboi would have been impressed.

"Get him off," Lili wheezed, throwing her head side-to-side as the dog made for her mouth. "Off! No! Bad puppy!"

Still too young to know the cruelty behind those words, the dog went on with its attack until Trouble leaned over the bed, wrapping his arms about the animal's waist and lifting him back up to the sheets. Keeping a firm hand in its scruff, Trouble looked over the edge, smirking at the prone figure of Lili. She looked quite fetching, hair a mess from the night, clothes rumpled and nearly falling off in some places from the struggle. If only he could fool himself into thinking that sheen on her face was sweat, and not dog drool, it would be the stuff of many fantasies to come.

"I believe," Trouble said primly, "I win."

"Oh—shut—up—you—_ass_." Lili wheezed, sitting up. She tugged at her shirt, lifting until it fell back into place, rather than risking flashing her good friend. "Don't think you're getting out of the kitten thing."

"Sure, Lili," Trouble said sarcastically, making no plans for a cleverly hidden catbox. "The pup still needs a name. Or do you want to be original and call him 'Dog.'"

"No...I've got an idea." Lili beamed, reaching up to rub at the dog's ears, making him whimper in pleasure. "I think you're right. It's time to...settle down, a bit." She snickered. "Not with a guy, I mean. Just...less hangovers would be nice. And...his name, its something the older people of Haven have wanted me to be for a while. Something I'm going to work on becoming."

Trouble stared at her, dread rising in him. What could she possibly name this dog? Temperance? Obedience? Oh, gods..._gods, no!_ _Chastity?_

"Regal," Lili said, leaning in quickly to give the pup a kiss on the nose.

Trouble took a second to think of the name. Then he smiled. "Regal. Perfect."

"Regal!" Lili shouted, standing up and lifting the dog in her arms, making him yelp for a second as he went high in the air, coming back down to stand by her feet, looking up at her expectantly.

"The Mansion hasn't had a dog in a while," Lili mused. "I don't think I'd trust any of the old supplies. We'll need to go out today. Get some food, a new collar and leash, a bed..."

"No! I'll sleep with you!" Regal said quickly, eager to retain possession of those utterly smooth sheets. They would be fun to chew on.

"Oh, no you wont," Trouble growled.

Regal let his mouth fall open in a tooth-filled grin, tail wagging slowly.

"We'll see," Lili said diplomatically. "For now, I'm sure there's an old collar that will last him until we get downtown and find something else. Mind watching him while I go find it?"

"My pleasure," Trouble said, settling down on Lili's bed.

"Stay," Lili commanded, hand flat in front of Regal's face.

The pup went stock-still, ears flattening against his head, and whimpered.

"Stay," Lili repeated, a bit softer. When it seemed to be working, she grinned. "He's pretty well-trained already." She paused, chewing on her cheek, eyes darting to Trouble, who she had no doubt was a lot less well-trained.

Then, impulsively, she leaned over and brushed her lips on Trouble's cheek. "Thanks..." Pulling back, she met his eyes. The hangover cure seemed to have done wonders, as there was now enough blood for a good amount to come into her cheeks, turning them a rosy red. "For everything, Trouble. You...you don't have to do all this, you know?"

"Of course I do," he said, smirking and holding himself back. "I've gotta take care of you, Tiger Lily."

Stepping back and standing straight, Lili brought her fist to her mouth, which was curved in a large smile. She giggled nervously, continuing her retreat. "Yeah...um...stay." She gestured towards Regal, but her eyes remained on Trouble until she spun about, dashing towards the door.

Regal continued staring at the door and whimpering, shifting between his paws. The light of his young life had just left, and told him not to follow. Oh, cruel world, that would allow such a wondrous creature to command him against his instincts, forcing him to abandon her when all he desired was to run by her side. To be within her pack always, taking on the role of omega, if necessary, simply to bask in her alpha glow. To lay his life on the line for hers, and consider it an honor to be slain...

"She'll be back," Trouble said, snapping the dog out of his dramatic inner monologue.

Regal turned his head to look at Trouble, tail wagging. "You promised..."

"I did. Good boy," Trouble said, rubbing the pup behind the ears. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a bone-shaped treat that should have been given to a canine about three times his size. It smelled strongly of BBQ sauce and the finest of meats, which made Trouble wrinkle his nose in disgust, though the dog looked at him with undivided attention. Trouble tossed it over, and watched in fascination as the bone was inhaled, not even a crumb marring the wood flooring, courtesy of the dog's slimy tongue.

Trouble looked back at the bedroom door, waiting for Lili to reappear. Slowly, he brought his hand up, fingertips brushing lightly at his cheek. He smiled in a deranged manner. In that moment, he looked for all the world like his little brother.

* * *

**Preview: "What part of our history's reinvented and under rug swept?/ What part of your memory is selective and tends to forget?/ What with this distance it seems so obvious..."**

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**It's a minor story element (I think...), but there is a bit of stuff with dogs I'm going to do in the King Frond story. Just thought I'd bring it back up here. Also...PUPPIES! I love writing puppies. Wish my apartment allowed them... Do a Google images search for "red klee kai." The first result is Regal.**

**And, yes, I am aware Colfer has said the People don't keep pets. Screw that. I defy his continuity. Hell, he defies his own, what with renaming Lili as "Lily" and making Vinyáya about 200 years younger in TAC than in TLC, among other things, so there! Pttttb to continuity!**

**Speaking of continuity, I had to make a minor change in chapter 25, to accommodate one of my next stories. Nothing that impacts this story. Good luck figuring it out. Major cookies to whoever does.**

**Again, review! Birthday present! And go read xybolic's stories, as well. It's her birthday tomorrow. GO!**


	38. It Seems So Obvious

**I LIVE! Sorry, life, what else can I say. Got another buffer in front of me, again, but it might take a bit longer, this time, as it is about time that I posted...smut.**

**So, as you know, 25,000 of smut coming before eom, All due to a technicality (dammit, Trouble why couldn't you have kept her for just _one more date_). These will all be put in the same fic. I am changing the name of "Just the Beginning" to "The Full Moon Diaries," and putting them there. I will be moving "Too Much" and "Showing Restraint" (the latter in a few weeks) over to this story, and also copy-pasting the reviews onto the main story, then deleting the old files, to centralize the sexy. No worries, no smut is lost, just relocated. It will be 25,000 NEW words, too, so the ones copied over don't count.**

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**ALSO. PODFIC IS DONE.**

**I released it on AFC on the 1st, seeing as I had nothing ready to post for announcement here, but have since redone them, with some minor adjustments (like a reasonable volume). The files can be found at the following micro URLs:**

**m4b version: jDOTmp/TBRmp4**

**mp3 version: jDOTmp/TBRmp3**

**I highly recommend the m4b version, as it contains bookmarks for each story, and a lovely cover image from xybolic. Sadly, at the moment, download takes _forever_, but a new host should be up in a few days, and I'll update the links, then.**

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**Kit will be attending the Sept 25th Colfer event in Burlingame. Anyone joining? Plllllllease? We can go out after and chatter about how short Colfer is!**

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**Song: "Hands Clean" by Alanis Morisette**

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**Chapter 38: It Seems So Obvious**

**Week 32**

_Their lunches didn't coincide again for the rest of the week, but, on Monday, Viny__á__ya arrived at her customary table to find the young sprite already seated, finishing up his meal. A bit more healthy than a tarantula burger and sweet potato fries this time, she was pleased to note._

_ Then she berated herself for this interest. He was Traffic. His diet was not her problem._

_ There were plenty of empty tables, and Viny__á__ya considered claiming one of them for the day. Again, she felt her hackles rise. That had always been her favored table, and most of the other officers had recognized it and left it to her, by now. It enjoyed excellent lighting and a good proximity to the exit, if her communicator gave off an emergency alert. Retreat? Not damned likely._

_ She slammed her tray down, glaring across as the trespassing sprite, who blinked at her in surprise._

_ "Don't think I don't know what you're doing here," she snarled._

_ The sprite stared at her. Then looked down at the last of his celery sticks, holding one up for her to inspect. "Um...eating?"_

_ She batted it away, and he looked after the vegetable forlornly until her continued words brought his attention back. "This is not some cheap romance novel, you fool. I am not going to be charmed by your little lunches and then get all intrigued and just _spread my legs _like a good little girl!"_

_ Wings fluttering, the sprite leaned away from the very pointy-toothed face, shock flashing across his own. "Woah...who said anything about...?" He swallowed, unable to finish the sentence, and certainly unable to repeat what she had just said. Major steps towards social equality would be made in the coming decades, but, at present, such words from a female's mouth were thrice as obscene as the same from a male._

_ "You think, just because of some _rumors_ about my family, I've got some sort of _bad habits_ you can take advantage of, right? Well, stop thinking, rookie. I am not going to jump in the bed of every officer who treats me halfway decent! That's not how I got my job, and that is not how I live my life." She leaned in closer, covering and claiming the table, thrilling at every centimeter the sprite retreated. "So. Just. Stop."_

_ "I wasn't looking to seduce you," the sprite huffed, piling trash onto his plate, wiping away the crumbs with a paper towel. _

_ Viny__á__ya found herself settling. Perfect. He had taken the hint, though she didn't believe him about his original intentions. Lately, she'd had to resort to formal complaints to get the same results, ever since that fling with the pixie in Traffic was let into the gossip channels. A few good dates and a crappy romp, and she was never going to live it down._

_ "I mean," the sprite laughed, picking his tray up and giving the Wing Commander a roguish wink, "I was just aiming for dinner and a movie."_

_ Then he turned about, making another swift exit before the elf had a chance to counterattack. A very wise move, for being such a young fairy._

* * *

Upon waking, Vinyáya eloquently cursed Morpheus. She needed to talk to his distant relation, Cupid, it seemed. The god had always seemed to like her, though it was likely because she was so close to his favorite descendant. Hopefully, he'd have some sort of sway over the dream lord.

...or he'd make it worse. It would be just like Cupid to give her have an even more awkward set of dreams, on the premise of "helping." She really did not want any of _his_ brand of help, nowadays.

* * *

Lili knew Holly's love of all things fuzzy would not last forever, so she took advantage of it by bringing the whelp into work every day for the first week. In between her duties, she trained the klee kai, and the ability to speak in the canine dialect made the process far easier than any human would have experienced. By Thursday, she was fairly certain he could take a day in the mansion alone without causing undue destruction, though the dog really didn't get why rugs weren't for chewing, when they tasted so good. He just obeyed, and Lili considered that victory enough.

She was considering a very quick drive back to the hill to drop him off for a half-day trial when Trouble popped his head into her office, knocking on the frame for attention and smiling when he had it. "Hey, shut down, I'm taking you to lunch."

The mutual treating of lunches was not uncommon for them, but Lili normally expected more notice. When Regal raised his head from the curled position on his rump, tilting it and whining, tail thumping loudly, she recalled their major impediment to impromptu dining. "I can't leave him locked in here."

The translation of the dog's soft woof said that he would also refuse to be left alone when there was food to be had. He was a true chow hound, and Lili would have much difficulty in future years with keeping his trim shape.

"That café down on Kings is dog-friendly. I've been meaning to try it." He grinned in a manner that seemed quite smug. "And I've already called in our reservation, so come on. I'm starved."

Regal had already risen to get behind-the-ear scritches from his surrogate father, and the dog's vacant tongue-out face made Lili smile fondly as she shut down and went to Trouble's side. "If you insist, Commander," she teased, clicking the lead on and getting a good grip. She still didn't completely trust her new charge. He was bred from long-distance runners, so she had no illusions about being able to catch him if he took off after a car or pedestrian.

"Of course I insist. I'm _the Commander,_" Trouble purred, wrapping an arm about Lili's waist and pulling the woman to stand hip-to-hip against him. When she yelped in surprise and Regal gave the hint of a growl, he transferred the arm to her shoulders, steering the woman towards the front of the Plaza.

Lili made a great show of inspecting Regal's leash as they walked. It allowed the secretary to keep her head down, which was vital. It was the only way to mask the sudden blush that covered her face. She could only pray it didn't extended to her ears, or she was doomed.

* * *

As both Vinyáya and Grub had fairly regular hours at the Plaza, the large majority of their visits to the obstetrician were on the weekend or after normal office hours. However, sometimes, things did not mesh well with the three elves, and it became necessary, as with this day, to hold their meetings during LEP lunch hours.

When the officers arrived somewhat late, they entered through the front doors (secrecy no longer being a concern) and found Ginko in his office. He wore a pair of ratty brown slippers, which were resting on top of his desk, engaged in eating something rather gooey and likely bad for the arteries, though he focused very little on his meal, instead preoccupied with his computer screen, which was turned sideways and playing a no-doubt pirated Mud Man feed. On screen, a single man stood on a wide swath of grass, surrounded by very silent onlookers, holding a recently moistened finger to the air. After several seconds, the human adjusted himself, took aim at the tiny ball on the ground, and tapped it.

Ginko leaned forward, nearly spilling his food onto his lap, and began muttering at the screen. "Go in...go in...go in, you damn...YES!" He punched at the air, hooting loudly "That's how you do it! By the gods, _that's_ how you _do it!_"

Grub shook his head slowly, but smiled. Everyone had their obsessions, and he wasn't one to judge, given his own. Though, really, Dr. Ginko could have chosen one that was a bit less expensive. Grub had even seen him up on the Principality Hill course once, when he went to the golf club for lunch with Lili. That was a pretty pricey bit of grass, and the wait-list for non-members was horrendous, according to the Frond.

Remembering "the Frond," Grub stopped smiling. She'd finally stopped reacting whenever she saw him in the halls of the Plaza, but that was only because her pup would whimper in response to her tension. He still felt like utter scum, but life in the office was almost tolerable, now that she was getting back to normal (or at least faking it) and his brother would talk to him again.

Of course, one thing that hadn't changed much was Vinyáya. She wasn't overtly hostile, but she still mostly ignored his presence. By his side, she coughed discreetly.

Ginko stopped his cheering and this time did drop his food, though it landed on the floor, rather than his green overcoat. He stood, looking first at the two officers, and then to his tiny video screen, pupils going large as he realized the scene they had walked in on. "You're here! I somewhat...thought you'd need to reschedule." He swallowed.

Grub smirked. He enjoyed seeing the doctor squirm. For the first time in months, he felt he had the upper-hand on the derisive man. Still...he couldn't really take advantage of it, even if he so desperately wanted to. Incarcerating their obstetrician just two months shy of delivery would make Vinyáya...miffed, and making her angry was the last thing he wanted; although Grub did silently muse that it would solve the issue of him not wanting the man to handle the birth.

Vinyáya glanced at her moonometer and tapped her foot. "I apologize for the delay, but we really do need to get moving, if we are to finish before our lunch hour is up."

"No worries, no worries," Ginko said, flapping his hands down the hall. "The examination room, if you will, for another ultrasound."

Grub looked to Vinyáya, giddy, but she just turned away from him and retreated from office room to exam room, undoing her shirt and pant buttons as she went, wanting to banish all delays. Once inside, she flopped onto the table and was again tapping her foot, arms crossed, when they arrived.

Despite having undergone the procedure several times, she still jerked a half-inch when the cold gel hit her skin. There was a lot more skin to work with, so she had to suffer though an extra splash, when the first proved not enough. She had done her best to moisturize as she expanded, but the measures were not 100% effective, and she now sported several thin, irregular lines where her stomach and breasts had changed too quickly. She wasn't a terribly vain woman, but she looked forward to the post-birth rounds of healing. The best part of being a pregnant fairy was being pumped so full of magic post-postpartum that the body returned to a fairly normal state. Unlike humans, no bloat would remain to make one seem still with-child, except for what was unavoidable from the weight gain.

Grub, blissfully unhindered by physical changes (except his unruly hair, which he had finally trimmed away from his eyes, going into a gradual sweep down to his shoulders), was focused on the screen. Even though he had the stock image of a seven-month fetus memorized, he had one of his many tomes open on his lap, displaying what was expected. When the ultrasound came into focus and he could analyze the image, he beamed. "No tail!"

His grin was lopsided, so Vinyáya assumed he was poking fun at himself. This did not stop her from muttering "spaz," and she indulged in a tiny smile when he pouted.

"Okay...click here...and...here..." Ginko said to himself, tapping the touch screen several times, bringing up yellow markers on a frozen image. "And...process... Hmmm."

"Hmmm?" Grub echoed, a few notes higher.

Vinyáya reached over and punched the male's shoulder in an attempt to derail his panic. It worked somewhat, though he looked at her balefully, rubbing his injured flesh.

"A half-centimeter smaller than I would have guessed from the last visit, but still within normal measurements for this period. Tell me, do any of you have any pixie in your bloodlines?"

Vinyáya shook her head. "Supposedly some sprite, a few thousand years ago."

Grub pondered deeply. "Um...my second cousin married a pixie," he volunteered.

Ginko turned his head to level a very flat look at the young elf.

"Um...no, I guess," Grub murmured, lowering his head and raising his shoulders until his neck seemed to disappear, much as he wished his entire body would.

"Well, as I said, still normal. And I do believe I can make out the proper numbers of fingers and toes, Mr. Kelp."

"Nostrils?" Vinyáya said with a sneer, which got a bit more pronounced when the father's eyes widened and focused on the doctor.

"Yes, _and_ nostrils," Ginko said, with a "you're not helping" look, which did absolutely nothing to chastise his patient. "To be honest, Councilwoman, yours has been the easiest pregnancy I've seen in decades."

_Easy?_ Vinyáya thought, horrified. The puking, the mood swings, the dizziness...gods, the cravings for _potting soil?_ What was a _hard_ pregnancy like?

"I think it is time we discussed the delivery and post-postpartum plan," Ginko went on, handing a towel to Vinyáya, who yanked free from her terrifying contemplations.

As she mopped herself off, Vinyáya nodded for the doctor to keep talking. Finally, like a marathoner whose legs wobbled with each step, mind pushed far past the wall of endurance, the finish line was in her sight.

Taking up his tablet, Ginko opened their visit records, bringing up a intensely long outline, which he began to go through, empty squares ticked off as he went. "Will you be continuing with my services through the birth?"

Grub frowned, but the pants-wearer in the partnership nodded, so he remained silent and seethed inwardly. He'd heard such great things about Nesset...

"Excellent." A quick tick was made, opening up an entire series of further questions. "What sort of birth are you considering?"

"An...easy one?" Vinyáya ventured. Based on the doctor's expression, he heard that joke far too often for it to be funny anymore.

Grub jumped into the spirit of things, much more knowledgeable, as per usual. "I was interested in a water birth, actually."

Vinyáya blinked "A...what?" She was suddenly overcome by the mental image of herself lying on a hospital bed with a hose pumping her up (the orifice varied, and she was not sure which was the more disturbing) until the baby shot out like a cannonball, caught in an over-sized catcher's mitt held by Grub. That just _couldn't_ be right...

"This is an _ideal_ pregnancy for a water birth," Ginko enthused, for once drawn into conversation with the male of the pair, instead of enduring it. "Since it's the Councilwoman's first birth, labor will be a bit long. The tub will have plenty of time to heat. I've had a few couples miss because the baby arrived too quickly!"

Grub tsked. "That's too bad, though I suppose there's nothing you can do about that, huh?"

"Certainly not," Ginko agreed.

"Tub?" Vinyáya interrupted their inane chatter, brows drawn. "Like...I'd be _in_ the water?" She stopped herself before saying "the water won't be in _me?_" It was somewhat obvious, now that she considered it, and she was fairly certain she'd seen a movie with the procedure, long ago.

"Yes. Very soothing. I've had women fall asleep between contractions!"

"But...wont the baby...drown?"

Grub shook his head violently. "There's plenty of time to lift it out before the first breath." He looked to the doctor, who nodded in agreement.

She seriously considered the matter. Or, more accurately, she seriously considered the insanity of the idea. "No. No water. No earth, wind, or fire, either. What about those..." she rolled her hand in the air, trying to think of the word, "something-sections?" She shot a finger-gun at the doctor as she tracked down half her desired word, and then shrugged. "That seems easy."

Grub whimpered, but did not not need to object, as the doctor answered quite curtly.

"Cesareans are considered an emergency procedure by the People. Gods know, the Mud Men will cut at the first opportunity, but it causes more problems than it solves."

"Fine, whatever," Vinyáya grunted, watching her one hope of what she considered an "easy birth" fly away. "Just a normal hospital birth." She looked to Grub, faking interest. "Or is there some sort of special name for that?"

The young captain decided to avoid giving an answer. There wasn't, from what he knew, and the urge to throw out the idea of a Leboyer birth was quickly squelched. Mostly because he didn't want to explain the term, though he made a mental note to bring it up with the doctor over the phone.

Unaware of the future annoying conversation with his least-favorite client, Ginko filled the couple in for a simple hospital delivery, and then moved on. "Then it's week 32, so delivery will be...3rd week of July." He clicked the month and highlighted the entire period as the parents agreed. Babies had a habit of arriving without warning, so he did a less color-saturated highlight for the week before, as well.

"Um..." Grub swallowed, eyes darting to the Wing Commander. He shifted in his seat, going to the far side to put as much distance between the woman and himself as possible before he spoke again. "My mother went past her due date for both my brother and me. That's...can that be kind of genetic?"

Vinyáya looked just as terror-stricken by this revelation as Grub did for...pretty much every bit of news he got. Then she steeled herself, snarling at the man. "It had _better_ not, or we are doing the Cesarean the second I'm overdue and shoving the kid inside _you_ until it's done!"

Grub nearly fell from his seat as he tried to get further away, one set of chair legs coming off the ground, the entire structure wobbling dangerously before it came crashing to Earth again.

"I wouldn't worry, Councilwoman," Ginko said, shrinking his calendar to see the entire month. "The due date depends far more on how your body works than his mother's. We'll face that if it...comes." He squinted at the rest of July and frowned very slightly. He made a tiny note and closed the window, making another tick on his list, looking up to address the two parents for the next section. "What about birthing classes?"

"Doctor," Vinyáya said. "I am a very busy woman. I don't have time for such nonsense."

Grub hissed in a breath, and spoke slowly, holding out his words for emphasis. "That is a reeeeeally bad idea.

Vinyáya shot him a look that finally made the captain get up to move his chair.

"I would also advise against that," the doctor hedged, still smarting from the birth argument. "Especially as this is your first pregnancy. A class will reduce your anxiety and...allay...fears..."

At "first pregnancy," the councilwoman rotated her head, boring into the obstetrician with her most scathing look. With his every word, her eyes narrowed, until the doctor could only be sure that they were still open a fraction because of the feel of visual acid covering his skin.

"Ahem, well...yes. And...Ritual leave, next, yes..." He nodded to himself and made another tick, going on to explain the special medical surface visas given to parents, whose magic would be vital to the sensitive systems of their children, until such time as they could speak and claim their powers. "Magic works best on those related by blood, so you will be the primary healers, even when a doctor is in easy reach."

Grub gulped. "Is that...a big problem? Needing healing?"

Laughing jovially, the doctor shook his head. "Not likely. The child will, of course, still have an immune system, and the People have many inoculations. Most likely you will just be called upon to 'kiss it and make it better.' Perhaps fix a sprain or broken bone under physician supervision."

"That is..._so_ cute," Grub enthused, imagining himself coming to the rescue of a minorly injured yet majorly distressed little Kelp. He didn't like the idea of his child being in pain, but becoming the hero of their day with a simple infusion of blue sparks was a heady notion.

Vinyáya had a very different reaction. She made a mental note to keep an eye on Short and Fowl, once they had children. They would abuse that surface leave with little to no guilt.

There was plenty more to discuss. Ginko recommended that Vinyáya consult Hibiscus about post-postpartum life, which Vinyáya assured she would and mentally added a "not" to the end of the sentence (based on Grub's scowl, he had gained temporary telepathy, and did not approve). He then gave them a shopping list with more items than would comfortably fit into Fowl Manor, which Grub began to mark off as some more "delicate" female issues were covered between doctor and patient. Grub had his normal barrage of questions, though three of every 4 were completely reasonable, by now.

When all was wrapped up, their lunch long over (though who in the Plaza would have the gall to call them on the cutting into work was unknown), they made their way out to the streets for the walk back to the Plaza.

"I really wish you'd reconsider the classes, at least," Grub said as they approached the four major buildings that surrounded the city square: the Plaza, City Hall, the main Fire Department, and Haven Central Hospital (their practitioner being located in a nearby but separate private office). "You'll learn a lot. Especially since you haven't really read anything. And it will help with the pain."

Vinyáya snorted, looking over at the man, who was now walking at her side, if farther apart than a normal companion would stride, instead of several paces behind. "Do you have _any_ idea how many times I've been shot in action?"

He spluttered. "You've been...I mean, I knew you had been, but when was the last—"

Before she had to elaborate on that boring incident (he would have known, if he hadn't passed out midway through the Rebellion), Vinyáya cut him off. "Kelp, pain is not an issue. Stop it."

"I don't think you realize—"

"I don't think _you_ realize how little I _care_."

Grub cringed another half-step away. "I just...sorry. Sorry."

She remained bristled for some seconds. And then that pesky thing called "guilt" began to poke at the edges of her defenses. She sighed, and deigned to diplomatically amend her statement. "How little I care about_ pain_." She flicked the idea away with a casual hand movement. "I've been through enough. I can take it."

Grub looked at the ground. "Vinyáya, I...just because you can do something on your own, doesn't mean you have to..."

It didn't take a genius to figure out that the man was no longer speaking about pain, and Vinyáya really didn't want to have this sort of heart-warming discussion in the middle of her work day. She had a meeting in fifteen minutes, after all, and she couldn't be overtaken by the warm fuzzies when she (covertly) threatened a fellow council member into voting her way. "I'm _fine_, Kelp, I...oh, darvit!" She shook her head as she lost the train of her argument. Her hair had been tied back for the appointment, so it flowed across her back like a thick, yet smooth rope, end snapping violently. "Just...d'arvit, get a video or something! I have no intention of going to some mothering class, but I'll watch _one_ video, if it will make you happy."

"Really!" Grub yipped, eyes shining. "You _promise_?"

"Yes," she snorted. "I'll pinky-swear, if it'll make you shut up."

Like a fine lady at a tea party, Grub extended his hand and further extended his smallest finger. "Deal!"

A bit startled, she stared at the proffered finger. She began to shake her head very slowly.

Finding his pinky un-shook, Grub wilted and retracted his hand.

Laying her fingers over her breast, directly over her tiny copy of the Book, Vinyáya spoke. "I promise I'll watch the video, okay?" It was a far more binding contract than pinky-swearing, but without the minor complication of touching the man. He still looked a bit lacking in something as they continued walking, but his vacant look at least showed he had become mentally occupied.

Very soon, they began to ascend the Plaza steps, the huge front doors sliding open before them, a blast of cool air ruffling their hair. As they came up to the last communal section of their walk, where the Wing Commander would take the stairs to her office (which was getting to be a significant task) and the captain would continue to his smaller downstairs accommodations, she spoke. "You know...I think I finally figured it out."

"Figured out...what?" Grub said, words making him lose track of his mental list of birthing videos. There had to be a gem in his hours of viewing, if he only looked, but her presence wasn't helping.

"You'll be a great father," Vinyáya threw out, almost haphazardly, rising up the first of many steps.

Grub felt his face go hot and his back straighten. He opened his mouth to thank the woman, hoping he wouldn't squeak.

Vinyáya turned to look at him over her shoulder, left foot ready to take her weight and continue the ascension, teeth shining in the bright stairwell lights. "But you would be an _insufferable_ partner."

Grub pouted as he watched her go, considering this. It was..._almost_ a compliment.

* * *

Regal had spent most of his time since adoption locked up with Lili in her office, and he had missed socializing with other dogs. The outdoor, animal-friendly area of the café was small, but packed with patrons and their small companions, and not all were canine. A few bruiser cats were about, interacting fairly well with the canids, though they had to discipline a few of the yappy ones. There was a slight language barrier between the species, but the fairy's understood all and kept the peace.

"He's going in for neutering next Friday," Lili commented. She spoke in Gnommish to keep the pup from catching wise. Nothing would make her life more difficult than her dog catching on to his upcoming emasculation.

"Yikes." Trouble crossed his legs, feeling horrible on behalf of the pup. There is a sympathy among men (often extending across the species) when it comes to injuries and/or loss of genitalia. This is what makes every man wince in pain when watching home videos of fathers being hit in the groin by wiffle balls, while women only giggle. "But it's just...cruel."

"He'll be a happier dog if he isn't getting told off for humping my leg," she pointed out bluntly.

"Ah." Trouble pretended to consider this before responding in his Commander voice. "Chop 'em off."

Regal paused in his conversation with an elderly Irish setter, cocking his head at Trouble, tail wagging slowly. "...treat?"

Shooting trouble a warning look, Lili obliged the klee kai, first making him go into the begging posture. There were a few jeers from the more pampered dogs, but a well-worded hiss from the largest tomcat made them wilt, their owner's faces growing faintly red at the apt words.

When Regal was back to his chat, Lili kicked Trouble's shin, though only so much that he frowned, rather than barking in pain. That would have set the dogs off. "Someone sounds...dear me..._jealous?_" She stirred her tea, sucking off the spoon when she was done, smiling around the fine silver. "My...my."

Trouble stared at her lips for a second too long, and then shrugged. "I can't, so why should he?"

Lili rolled her eyes. "And if you _were _allowed to?" Trouble's sexual double-standards had always irked her. He had been the one to push her out of her shell after the fiasco with Kudzu, and was among the least-judgmental men she knew. His conquest list was higher than her own, but he was far more...vindictive towards her failed lovers than she to his. She mostly feigned ignorance of his little revenges on the worst offenders, but had pointed out that she should also be meeting out judgment after the first time Trouble was two-timed. He had just given her a puzzled look and hidden his markers, unswayed by logic.

As Lili recalled this, Trouble was developing a grin. It spread slowly, at first a mere twitch, and then it came on at full force: the little lift of a brow, the softening of his eyes, the extra angle to one side of his mouth. His full thoughts were conveyed in one look, and they were intense enough to make some of the nearby female patrons light-headed.

Lili could feel herself sweat a bit, her own chest growing somewhat tight and oxygen-deprived. He hadn't dared use that..._look_ on her in ages...

"Then I," he breezed, picking up his glass of water, "would be the luckiest man in Haven." He paused, glass to his lips, and frowned, eyes darting to the dog. "And I'd still say you should get him neutered ASAP." He drank.

Lili swallowed, though there was no food in her mouth. By the time Trouble had lowered his glass, she was back to normal, leaning back in her chair to give Regal's ruff a hard scratch, glad for the pup's anchoring qualities. She didn't relish the idea of doing anything salacious when there was a canine witness. Especially when that witness would easily be understood by all of her friends.

...and especially when she didn't _intend_ to do anything, in the first place!

She kept with the conversation, though it unnerved her, attempting to subtly steer it away from the main line. "You manage that, and your conquest list really would be complete."

Trouble snorted. "Hardly."

A moment later, his face dropped several shades, from light espresso to a sort of diseased liver, and he tried to amend his words. "I mean, there would still be...women I would never...um..." He waved his hands at her, hoping she would supply the end of the sentence for him, because he had no idea what he had just said, much less what he should say to finish without looking like a moron and/or a sexual predator.

"The great rake, Trouble Kelp, flustered," Lili cooed, eyes flashing with the win. With as often as he had once unnerved her, as a young fairy, the recent turning of tables was welcome. "What _will_ the tabloids say?"

Reminded of the gossip papers, Trouble looked across the street.

Waiting there was Lili's normal contingent of stalkerazzi, joined by a few others that had been drawn in by the recent drama. They were constantly focusing through their cameras, which would be on full record. If things got in any way interesting, the clips would be sent to lipreading experts, to extract at least Trouble's side of the conversation. Lili, luckily—considering all the talk about humping—had her back to the photographers.

"This is going to look...suggestive to them," Trouble ventured.

Lili nodded, considering this herself. Puppy, intimate lunch, flirting...it looked like a courtship. Perhaps one of the more traditional courtships she had ever undergone, in fact.

She eventually shrugged, downing the last of her tea and patting with a socialite's delicacy at the corners of her lips. "It's not the first time they tried to claim we were dating. Maybe it's not even news-worthy, by now."

"I hope so..." Trouble checked his watch, blinking once and squinting as he read it again. He cursed. "D'arvit. Time flies. We're late." The check had arrived and been covered long ago, so he stood, holding out a hand to help his guest.

When she lay her hand lightly in his, the opposite side of the street was filled with clicks, cameras switching to picture mode for high-resolution images.

Lili stood, continuing to face Trouble as she spoke, lips out of the recorder's line of sight. "When they make the movie of my life, there is not a lawyer alive that can convince them to keep our 'liaisons' out of the script, is there?"

"Nope," Trouble said, sending a scowl at the giddy reporters. Which of them worked for his mother? She'd have a field day lecturing him about "stealing" her youngest's bonny lass, even if she knew it was false speculation, with that relationship long-since over.

And...if it wasn't _all_ speculation?

He was a man suddenly possessed by an idea, and that was the only excuse Trouble would ever give. Lili bent to attach Regal's leash and, when she came back up, Trouble was waiting for her.

His lips did not touch hers. Nor did they contact with her cheek, in an echo of the thank-you peck from days ago. They came down somewhere in the middle. Only at the furthers corners did their lips touch, but it sent a jolt up the corresponding side of Trouble's neck, his ear itching in a way that promised a most amazing feeling if only someone gave them a tiny scratch.

Across the street, cameras clicked faster than a full line of tap-dancers. The angle was all wrong. They wouldn't be able to tell it wasn't a full lip-lock. Not even a denial under oath would convince the tabloids.

Trouble smirked as he pulled just far enough away to enjoy Lili's expression. It entirely met his expectations.

"Dear...Frond," she whispered. She did not correct the blaspheme.

"If you start kissing me" Trouble whispered, straightening up so his face was no longer hidden behind Lili's, "I'll have to do it right back."

Her face was turning a delicious shade of pink, and she angled her head just enough to dart her eyes at the papparazzi, confirming to herself that they had caputed the moment. "Trouble...you..._ass!_" Speaking halfway between a laugh and a hiss, she struck his chest with a tightly clenched fist, one finger raised to provide an initial point of contact, intensifying the strike. "Why did you do that!"

Laughing and ignoring the slight numbing of his muscles from the surprisingly well-conducted assault, Trouble again put his arm about Lili's shoulder, steering her out of the café. "To add some plot twists to the movie version of your life, Princess."

"Ugh!" Lili exploded, breaking free of Trouble's embrace, shoving him aside and stomping so she developed several paces between them, Regal trotting to keep up with her brisk stride. "You...you..._ugh!_"

He chuckled, watching her go on ahead. Across the street, the paparazzi were scrambling to keep up. Headlines were probably already written in their minds: "FROND AND COMMANDER, CAUGHT AT LAST!"

Well...he couldn't let it read _quite_ that way. He didn't want to ruin her good name. She was a nice, girl, for the most part. Each of her lovers, like his, were given a fair chance at a relationship, with no overlap. If liaisons with Trouble were implied, then no one would believe she had been so principled. Therefore, clarification was needed.

Trouble cupped his hands about his mouth and called out to Lili's back. "I've been wanting to do that since I met you!"

She didn't even bother to turn as she raised an arm high above her head and flipped him off. More camera flashes greeted this uncouth gesture.

He adjusted the mental headlines: "PRINCESS SPURNS COMMANDER'S CLUMSY CONFESSION!"

It was no secret that Trouble had always desired his friend. From the moment he saw her, he had made it his personal mission to bed the princess, only putting it aside as their relationship developed into something far greater than sexual desire. Very little had changed with that kiss.

_And yet_, thought Trouble with a smile, _that little is everything._

_ ...so long as she doesn't castrate me when the tabloids hit her desk._

* * *

**Preview: ****Through the years I've grown to love you,/ though your commitment to most would offend./ But I stuck by you holding on with my foolish pride,/ waiting for you to give in...**** ."**


	39. Broken and Strewn With Thorns

**Song: "The Path of Thorns" by Sarah McLachlan**

* * *

**Chapter 38: Broken and Strewn With Thorns**

He moved so carefully that Vinyáya didn't even recognize Grub's overture when it came.

The man stood in the doorway to the living room, holding a recently dried saucepan and squinting at the nonstick surface, as if it the immaculately clean curve still retained a heavy coating of sewer slime. "How old are these things?"

Vinyáya paused her game (kindly, she thought), slipping the headphones off one ear. She considered the cookware's origins very carefully, coming up with a somewhat unexpected blank. She shrugged. "They were my parents', so...at least seventy years old?"

Grub scowled and let the pan droop out of his view to focus fully on his host. The people made sturdier cookware than the humans, but 70 was still ancient for nonstick items. "Not sentimental, are they?"

"My mother wasn't much of a cook." Shrugging, she went on to admit, "It must be genetic. Tuna melts are about all I can manage." Feeling that she needed to defend herself, she went on with, "Killer tuna melts."

"Neither of my parents were great cooks, either," Grub dismissed, shaking the pot at his host's face. "There are crap," he said sternly. "I need something better to work with. A nice copper set, as well."

She raised an eyebrow at the firm words. Quite uncharacteristic. Flicking her hand at him, she said, "Do as you will," giving up all responsibility.

He nodded briskly, pleased. Turning on his heel, Grub went back to the kitchen.

After a long pause and several blinks, Vinyáya turned back to her game and restarted. Within minutes, she had forgotten the incident entirely.

* * *

Trouble watched Lili approaching him from down the Plaza's main hall and knew, without a doubt (as he often did, really), that he was screwed. And not in the manner he had been hoping.

"Still mad at me?" He ginned, though without the sultry tinge from last week.

In response, Lili tightened her hand into a fist and shot it at Trouble's chest.

He had a split-second to prepare himself, and the blow was almost negligible, but he still did her the favor of grabbing the "wound" and bending over dramatically, wheezing out his breath.

"YOU ASS!" She bellowed, stamping her foot as she raged. "Your damned _mother_ called me about that...about what you did! Do you have any _idea_ how annoying she is?"

Now Trouble winced genuinely. "Oh, gods, Lili...I didn't think she'd do that."

"Yeah, well, she did," Lili snapped, getting close to her friend's face as she whispered, to keep the suddenly interested Plaza passersby from overhearing. "And she lit into me for twenty minutes until I managed to tell her _why_ it wasn't her _other_ son I was with when the pictures were taken."

Trouble felt the world collapse around him. The fact that the captain and princess had split was undeniable, given how they now acted around each-other. The reason? That could be kept hidden. So long as someone didn't spill. He doubted his own mother would run the story that his little brother had passed up the hottest woman in Haven in favor of his twisted relationship with the harpy Wing Commander, but now..._she knew_. And his mother knowing about anything that went on in his or his brother's life was a_ bad thing. _"What...what did she do?"

"She...was fucking..._thrilled_," Lili hissed, and, for the first time, Trouble noticed the shining quality at the corners of her eyes. "She said she really liked me, 'of course, dear,'" Lili pitched her voice quite a lot higher than necessary to portray Hibiscus, eyes rolling, "but your brother has a...responsibility, and a father..." She trailed off, biting her lip. Catching his eyes, which had flashed dark for a moment, she was unable to believe what she had almost said.

"Oh, shit," Trouble breathed when he calmed, and, despite her earlier attack, he wrapped his arms about the woman, dragging her away from the core of the Plaza and towards the break room. He could kick the fairies out and lock the door for some privacy, but the cameras within would allow them to counter any salacious claims about what they did there. Privacy was a must, though, so he would take what rumors would come, if necessary, in order to get the woman to calm down.

He had to think of something, and the thought that came to his mind—while non-traditional, as solutions went—was infinitely appealing. "Know how my mother's a bitch, Lili?"

She nodded as he slammed open the break room door and glared everyone into retreat. Most people would have instantly denied such things about anyone's mother, but she had spent enough time with her male friend to know that this was not only unnecesary, but also counter-productive. "Uh-huh?"

Once the room was clear and the door locked, Trouble sat her down at one of the tables and went into an at-ease position before her, his body all official lines and solid muscle. "Well...what do you want me to draw on her?" Looking down at his friend, he allowed the faintest twitch in the corner of his mouth as he waited for her orders.

Lili's eyes went wide. "Draw on..." Then they were even wider as comprehension arrived and she considered a variety of magical creatures and profane sex acts (many of which were physically impossible). Soon, she seemed to break, raising a hand to her mouth, giggling against its back. "I...gods, does your mother even _drink_?"

"Ah..." Trouble considered this and sighed. "I suppose that _is_ a limiting factor, yes...though I bet we're both strong enough to hold her down while I sketch."

Again, the Frond heir seemed shocked at the notion, followed by barely restrained amusement. She looked across at Trouble and smiled, the shine to her eyes diminishing with each moment. "I...always did like mermaids."

* * *

On Wednesday, Vinyáya came home from a swanky dinner with Fleetwind and the wives, and nearly brained herself upon entering the kitchen to put away her leftovers. Only the flash of reflected light directed at her eyes stopped her, and she was already backing away by the time she looked up.

The air was full of hanging pots and pans. Almost all of it was a bright copper, which shone merrily, giving her a good look at her astonished face. It all rotated slowly, just a few degrees, the shift occasionally letting her see through the near side and to her counters beyond. Things had never hung from her ceiling before. Was her house suddenly haunted by a very dextrous, copper-loving poltergeist?

"Oh, Vinyáya!" Came a yip from behind, and there was a loud clatter as the speaker nearly lost hold of another set of copper. Grub walked in hurriedly, hunched over a precarious pile of cookware, trying to keep a grip on everything, including tightening one elbow to his ribs to clutch a slipping wok. The entire load was dropped on the nearest counter, and he had to twist about quickly to catch the last item (a little pan that seemed too small to even boil an egg) before it crushed into his toes.

"What is going on?" she said, neutrally. It was less for diplomacy and more because she was still too shocked to figure out what the hell _was_ going on, along with what emotion best suited the occasion. That was a _shitload_ of pots.

Grub laughed, holding one up to his face, the shine of the surface seemingly amplified by his pleased beam. "I manged to get a good deal on the entire set, but there wasn't enough room in the cabinets." He turned from the now clutter-filled counter and began to hang pans on the few remaining hooks. Vinyáya had no doubt he had been humming a merry tune on all trips taken when she wasn't about. "So, I figured we could have a hanging pot rack, to show off the copper," Gurb continued. "It looks nice, don't you think?" Tapping the side of one pot, he pushed it out of his line of sight, smiling across at the wing commander. "I always wanted one."

"Kelp, it looks—"

She stopped herself as the man's words came though. _I managed to get...we could have_.

His money.

Her house.

There was no reason to replace anything, and especially not a full kitchen set. And to _install_ something, even as simple as a pot rack? He could surely wait a few months for the splurge and conduct his shopping spree when he knew exactly what his own kitchen could support.

"Vinyáya?" Grub ventured.

When she looked past the veil of copper to her tenant, he was barely breathing. He held onto the hook for the last pot, waiting for her reaction. If the way the light from the reflective bottom skittered across the wall was any clue, his shaking body knew that she understood. He awaited her response.

"It looks..." She trailed off, reaching up to flick her finger on one pot, making it ring. When the note faded away, she began again. "It looks like a safety hazard."

In all of the previous eleven years of seeing the man in a close setting, she had never seen that look on his face. He took in a soft, but quick breath, then licked at his lips. Slowly, he lowered the pot, nodding. "I...guess. I could see about taking them—"

"An island," she interruped without emotion "To keep us from walking into them. It would add some counter space, too, since you're always going on about that." She scowled across at her own sparse counters. "Pity they wont match."

The look was gone, replaced by that mad glee she had seen on such occasions as ultrasound heartbeats and belly-touching. He seemed about to squirm right out of his skin. "Yes, it will!" Putting the last pot up, he dashed to the sink, picking up his tablet.

On the way back, while focusing down on the display, his temple clipped one of the hanging saucepans, the instant yelp of pain mingling with the bell-like tones of the assaulted cookware

Vinyáya stepped forward. "Oh, you dolt..."

She trailed off when the man jumped back, his free hand leaving his head to hover between them. He was still skittish, it seemed, and she couldn't precisely blame him, even if it was a shot to her pride.

Grub shook his head to regain a bit of mental clarity, handing over the tablet, which had been flipped to a digital dog-ear. It showed a criminally perfect kitchen, complete with a smiling, thin-waisted, poofy-haired, and large-busted pixie holding a sheet of just-baked cookies. You could almost smell the domesticity.

Vinyáya raised the corner of her lip at the image. Little lady in the kitchen? Psh. Only one thing was familiar in the image. "These do look an awful lot like my counters."

"They are. It's factory-made materials, not mined stone, and the style is still in production." He held his right eye as he said this, reminding the commander quite strongly of a little boy without props playing at pirates. "There's a warehouse nearby with a kitchen island that matches the counters _and_ the cabinets. And it's on sale. They could probably have it here in an hour." He grinned, proud of his research.

She narrowed her eyes at the enthused man. "_Probably?_" she prodded. At his slow nod, she heaved a sighed. "You ordered it already, didn't you?"

"Yes," Grub said briskly, unabashed. When her brows went up and she smirked in a very knowing manner, he inversed his expression. "I am _not_ gay!"

"I _know_, Kelp," she broke in. "We don't need to keep having this dicussion, it's getting old." Handing the tablet back, she weaved about the pots to approach the refrigerator, having finally recalled her leftovers. As she opened the door and began to shift things about in search of free space, she gave her answer, avoiding the man's gaze by sticking her head directly into the appliance. "Confirm the delivery while I get you a healing pack. You're up for the Ritual at the full moon, right?"

Grub already had his phone out and the delivery company ringing when he looked up. One hand to his eyes, another (with phone) to his ear, and mouth open, he looked like a very confused relative of the blank-no-evil monkeys. He eventually nodded and, when the phone was answered, it took several repetitions of "hello?" before he collected his wits enough to speak. He stumbled terribly on his words when Vinyáya came back and grabbed his wrist to uncover the injured eye, placing a cold, magic-infused pack on without warning. The sudden chill made him jump, and she shoved his hand back in place, moving away without a word.

As she left the man to his call, she noticed he was smiling. Once her back was turned and her face out of sight, she did so, as well.

* * *

Allen wrenches are truly the tools of the Devil. Or that's what Grub told his brother. To be more accurate, he said they were the tools of the Fomoroians, but the meaning was roughly equivalent to the People.

Several days had passed, and the kitchen floor was now strewn with screws, faux-wood planks, little faux-wood dowels, sliding bars for drawers, a few bottles of glue, various screwdrivers, and two tiny, _tiny_ Allen wrenchs. No item was put together. Not even a drawer handle to a drawer front.

Grub hung his head in shame. He was no longer a man.

At various points during the last few days, the structure had been put together. In a fashion. It seemed to resemble a Picasso work. Done while the artist was on amphetamines. And trying to draw a pony.

So now everything was taken apart and at least put in orderly rows, all components accounted for. From here...madness loomed. Grub sat in the midst of it all and consulted the instructions.

It was in this yogi-like position that Vinyáya found him ten minutes later, turning a wrench between his hands, muttering under his breath. She picked her way through the materials and leaned over his shoulder to inspect the manual

"...seriously, Kelp?" she finally said. "You can't figure this out?"

He jolted a tiny bit at her presence, but did not scramble away. Instead, he opted for his traditional strategy: making excuses. "It's complicated!" He looked straight up at her as he whined, suddenly appearing far younger than he had in months.

She found she did not enjoy this younger-looking Kelp, and snapped, "There's no text! It's all just pictures!"

"The pictures are confusing," he pouted.

"They're big enough to belong in a coloring book. How is this hard?"

"I've never done this before."

"Oh," Vinyáya scoffed, "like this is so foreign to you. Tab A into slot B. You've done _that_ often enough."

Grub frowned. "Did you just call yourself a 'slot'?"

Rather than destroy him for such a jibe, she resorted to petulance. Vinyáya stuck her tongue out.

Grub copied the gesture. It wasn't very mature gesture, but it was satisfying.

"Give me that!" Vinyáya snapped, reaching out.

So convinced was he that it was his tongue the woman spoke of, Grub leaned back, slipping it back into his mouth for protection, while leaving the manual on his lap unguarded.

She snatched the document away, crossing to sit on the floor opposite Grub, separated by the small screws and other materials. "Hmmm...this really shouldn't take more than a few hours, if I help. Best to get rid of some of the clutter, first." She lowered the instructions, glancing about. "Drawers... Kelp," she said briskly, as she would in the Plaza, pointing out the supplies. "Two of those long, thin pieces; two shorter ones; a big, square one; and a drawer front. A set for each of us."

Grub glanced about for a beat before scrambling to his feet and picking up the required planks. He came back with his arms overloaded, the fake wood clacking loudly as he sat, materials exploding across his lap.

"Split it up between us," Vinyáya continued, fingers floating over the screws and dowels, picking them out and putting little piles between herself and the man. "I'll show you how to make one first, so you can do these while I get the rest set up."

"What?" Grub said, finishing his task. "On your own? Can you do that?"

She snorted. "I do my own bike repairs. This? This will be a cinch."

Feeling emasculated by his host's mechanical skills, he began to arrange his planks in what seemed to be a logical order, then reached out for an Allen wrench.

"Ah ah!" Vinyáya yelped, snatching it away and shaking it in his face. "Typical man, not thinking it through. That's all wrong." With the long end of the wrench, she pushed at one end of the drawer, making it lean to the side. "That groove is where the bottom of the drawer fits, so they all need to be on the bottom edge, once it's put together. Get those in alignment, and_ then_ put them together." She did this first herself, moving quite fast and then handing the wrench over, fishing about in the detritus until she found a screwdriver to work with.

Grub considered the tool for a moment, and then got to work. The screws wobbled before he managed to give them a few turns in, and he tried to help his concentration by sticking the tip of his tongue out of his mouth, scowling.

Vinyáya contained a smile at his look of supreme effort. "Please tell me someone else put the crib together."

"Yes," Grub sighed, exasperated, letting his wrench hand fall to his lap. "Trouble. He's always been better at this stuff than me. 'The man of the house' and all."

"What about your father?" Vinyáya said, and instantly regretted it. Everyone in the LEP from 70 years ago remembered the passing of Manfred Kelp. It suddenly occurred to her that she had probably seen this man at the official memorial service. He was probably little more than a snot-nosed kid, back then. She tried to recall a younger Grub, standing beside his mother and brother, crying over the lost parent, but found herself unable. Seven decades was a long time to recall such a scene, even for such an emotional event as a recycling ceremony, and he had obviously changed a lot.

The fatherless man was ignorant of her thoughts, and continued speaking. "He was pretty good, too," Grub said, with the casual tone of one whose wounds have long since scarred over. "Or, well, as good as you can get if you still smash your thumb with a hammer, on occasion." He laughed, shaking his head at the memories. "This one time, he was helping Mom move into a new apartment, and she realized her dining room table was too wide to let anyone get by to the kitchen. He disappeared with it, and we thought he was going to sell it for us. Came back a week later with it cut in half, the legs moved over so it could stand again, and painted. It looked like new, and it fit perfectly." Experimentally, Grub picked up the drawer bottom, inspecting Vinyáya's example before slotting it into place. "He kept the other half and put it in his own apartment. It didn't look half so good, and it wobbled no matter what he did." Picking up the front of the drawer, Grub began to affix that, looking pleased with the results. It resembled a drawer! Miracles.

"Don't forget the dowels," Vinyáya murmured, pointing at the wood-colored pegs, which she was also hammering into place with the plastic end of her screwdriver, masking the screw holes.

She thought about that little story as he complied. It told her quite a lot. As she already knew, there had been a divorce. It seemed Hibiscus had won primary custody of the children, but Manfred retained visitation rights and an amiable relationship with his ex-wife. Noting the comment about apartment size, money was probably tight, but this was somewhat expected. She knew both Kelp boys had attended state-funded Haven College, rather than the private Atlantis University, but, from the elder's tales (quite salacious, and likely half-false), at least one had the money to stay in the dorms. There must have been a change in fortune somewhere along the line, because, without a doubt, the home-owning, well-dressed Hibiscus was no longer halving tables to fit cramped spaces.

"So...um...I guess you learned to cook from your mother?" she querried, fishing for further clues.

Grub laughed once, loudly. "Oh, _gods_, no. I mean, she's okay, but no." He squinted at Vinyáya's finished drawer, picking up one of the metal tracks and flipping it about to analyze how they slid. "After Dad passed, she didn't have child support to help with her part-time jobs, so she went full-time at the Haven Tribune. They wanted pretty long hours, so she didn't have time to cook." He put the track to the side of the drawer, sliding it to make sure it was on the right way, then began to screw it into place "Trouble was...okay, I guess, but I got sick of spaghetti and instant curry pretty quick, so I tried cooking."

"A natural talent?"

"I set myself on fire the first time," Grub corrected, holding up his arm and pointing out a dime-sized burn scar near his elbow.

She couldn't help but laugh, and Grub smiled in response, rather than sulking.

"I took home economics, after that, and watched a lot of cooking shows." He shrugged. "Once I was good enough, I took over the cooking and half the housework, and Trouble did the rest, including car repair and stuff like this."

"Well...I'm glad," Vinyáya said.

Grub looked up from his drawer, grinning. "Really?"

"Uh...yeah." She played with the tracks of her own drawer, fighting to maintain her complexion. "You take care of the food, and Trouble can make sure the boy's crib doesn't collapse."

A flash of confusion went across Grub's face, and he missed the screw for the drawer's handle, stabbing his palm with the Phillips head. "D'arvit!" He sucked at his palm, still looking at the woman. "What are you talking about? The...?"

Then his face cleared, transforming to an enormous grin. "You...you snuck a look at the nursery!"

"I did not!" Vinyáya shrieked, slamming the tracks back in place.

"Oh, yes you did! You couldn't take the suspense, could you?" Grub fell back to the floor, holding a nearly-finished drawer to his chest. "Oh, _gods_, that's great! You little _liar!_"

Crossing her arms, she harrumphed. "It was practical. This way, I wont have people getting him a bunch of pink frilly stuff."

"Oh, yeah," Grub said, pointing up to the glittering pots. "And you so would hate to mess with gender norms. Gods, what would you do if your son had..." Grub clawed at his face, dragging his fingers and the skin down. "A _pink_ bedroom?"

"Har-dee-har," Vinyáya snarked, picking herself off the floor. "Go on, have your laugh," she said as she kept half-bowed to avoid impacting with the cookware. "Then get to work on the rest of the drawers. And not a _word_ about this to _anyone. _I don't need the entire Plaza cooing over blue-dyed nappies."

"Not even Trouble?" Grub pouted. "He'll be so excited."

"_No one_," she rumbled, only easing when Grub placed a hand over his chest, directly above his Book. He then obediently took his supplies away to the dining room table, only returning to help with moving the larger pieces. Every time he did so, the man made a small double-take at the progress, occasionally proclaiming "Oh! So _that's_ where that went..." If asked to explain what he'd done, his words warped Vinyáya's mind, so she soon learned to not ask.

The kitchen being unuseable during construction, they ordered out from Vinyáya's favorite Chinese place, and Grub took one bite of the crispy orange-glazed grasshoppers before scowling and proclaiming it in dire need of lemon juice. He applied a dilution and, to Vinyáya's complete non-surprise, it became a veritable orgasm in the mouth, as per usual. Grub went aside to make a note on some scratch paper, and Vinyáya casually drifted past later on, keeping her head straight ahead as her eyes flicked down to read the resturant name and dish, with plans to obtain the recipe. She found herself quite excited about the idea of having such a sinful food available at a moment's notice. Yet another reason to have him stick around for a while longer. Or at least until she began to balloon up without pregnancy as an excuse, and had to make him move so she could keep her trim shape.

It was late in the night when the final drawer slid into place, thumped shut with great pomp and finality. Vinyáya stood back to observe the little ceremony, Grub joining her side a second after assembly was done. She preened, but he seemed tense as he watched.

"What?" she finally said, making him jump as he was brought back to reality.

"I'm...sort of expecting this all to collapse at any moment," he confessed.

She considered this, head turned just slightly to observe her helper. Eventually she smiled. "It won't," she reassured. "You did well."

He turned his head to her, easing with a tiny grin. "Really?"

She nodded, looking back at the drawers. "Yeah, except for that handle being upside down," she said, gesturing at the bottom middle.

"Oh, d'arvit!" Grub took the screwdriver out of his pocket and approached the cabinet. Then he took in the handle's mirrored design and turned a scowl on his tormenter. "Haha, very funny."

"I sure thought so," she needled, but, for once, her grin did not have a cutting slit to the eyes or an extra flash of teeth. It was genuine, and Grub came back to her with his eyes lowered, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Thanks...for the help. And...just talking, I guess." He attempted to shrug the moment off. "It was nice."

She studied him. He obviously had little experience with random chit-chat. She wondered what the man had talked about with Lili. Promotions, of course. The Plaza, maybe. Though, to be honest, she didn't imagine Lili engaged in the typical percentage of chatter. Her energies were likely focused on non-verbal communication.

"I have a question, Kelp," Vinyáya said, surprising them both, though Grub reacted quite a bit more.

"Uh...sure." His stood a little straighter, his height topping hers by a good two inches. "Anything."

"What were you hoping for?" At his confused and somewhat frightened look, she laughed and went on. "Before the doctor told you, for the gender. Did you want a boy or a girl?"

He blew out hard, cheeks puffing for an instant. Ducking his head, as if preparing for a strike, he answered. "To be honest..I was hoping for a girl."

"Really?" She quirked her head to the side, brows drawn together. "I thought guys were supposed to want their first kid to be a son. You know, carry on the family name."

"I suppose," Grub agreed unconvincingly. He played with the screwdriver, twisting the plastic end swiftly while holding the metal tip in his fingers, letting it twirl about sideways in the air. "It's just...if we had a girl..." He blushed and lowered his voice. "I'd...I'd want her to look like you."

She tried to laugh dismissively, wrapping her hand around a large chunk of silver mane and waving it at him. "Right. Hair and all, _that_ would be nice."

"I'm serious, Vinyáya!" He snapped so harshly that it even shocked himself. He stepped back, lowering his head further, now looking at the ground. "I'd...love to have a daughter...that looks like you."

And, for a moment, the image of that child flitted across her mind. Not with hair changing at seventy, like hers had, but long and molten from the start, wearing grass-stained shorts and laughing around a recently lost baby tooth. Somewhere, deep within, Vinyáya felt an unexpected and terrifying ache.

"I'm exhausted," Grub moaned, doing his level best to banish the awkwardness. "I'll start moving things into the drawers tomorrow, okay?"

"Um...oh, yes." She nodded in dismissal, still half-distracted. "Good night, Kelp."

They moved almost aimlessly for a few minutes, and Grub was the first to go down the hall to his bedroom, the door clicking shut between him. She followed some minutes later, pausing at his door. Her hand drifted up just an inch, and then she stepped away, shaking her head furiously. She continued down the hall and to her own room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Really, she was acting like one of the Fowl boy's cheesy romance heroins. Disgraceful.

* * *

_The sparring lottery was stacked against her, it seemed, as the new sprite stood across from her not a week later, adjusting his gi and looking supremely nervous._

_ "I hear they're making a big film about the second era of the Fronds," he chattered, trying to calm himself with the almost random talk. "Lots of drama, plenty of action."_

_ She took one step forward, shifting her body to the side and raising her leg with lightning swiftness, completing a full split before letting the ball of her foot crash down directly into his nose, sending the sprite slamming back onto the mats. She remained on one foot for several seconds, her attacking leg brought back to her body, which was still angled from the strike, waiting to see if he would counterattack, though definitely not expecting it. When she was proved right, she slowly brought the leg back down. Reaching up, she tightened her ponytail, waiting for her opponent to stand again. "Not into movies," she drawled._

_ "Oh," he whimpered, prodding his nose to make sure it wasn't broken. Finding a healing wasn't needed after his first interchange on the mat, he got into position again, taking on the attacking role. "What about a play? Or a musical? Opera?" He tried to copy the kick. He was limber enough to achieve a 135 degree angle, but not the full 180 (and likely then some, if she was prompted) of his opponent._

_ Viny__á__ya stepped around his kicking leg and grabbed at the knee. Putting her foot over the one he had still on the mat, keeping him in place, she pushed his leg up. And up. And up. "Not a theater fan."_

_ The sprite made a sound that was roughly akin to that of a rabbit being murdered, feeling his groin stretching past the bounds of reason and the Geneva Convention (even if it was several decades away). Not being a particularly intelligent fairy, he squaked out, "Concerts?"_

_ Viny__á__ya pause, looking over her shoulder to get a proper view on his face. They stood so close, his chest against her back, and she could feel his heartbeat fluttering just inches away as she slowy smiled, lids lowering._

_ Despite the pain, the corporal gave a small, shaking thumbs-up and smiled back._

_ "No," Viny__á__ya soothed._

_ When the sprite woke up in the infirmary, he found he would need to spend the next week with a few discrete cold packs in his trousers._

_ After the look the wing commander had given him, he decided that this was entirely worth it._

* * *

Despite his offer of comfort following the tabloid releases and his mother's interference, Trouble knew he would have little effect on the gossip surrounding himself and Lili. After all, they were tabloid sensations, at the moment, and he was largely at fault. He had tried smoothing over at least one of the many problems by calling his mother to get an apology for her interference; he came away from the conversation with an enormous headache and a promise to have a family brunch in a few weeks. Somehow, he suspected she had been taking debate lessons with a certain techie coworker.

Fully prepared to come in and grovel at Lili's feet for his failure, Trouble did not expect find a sizable box on his desk come Friday morning, the green paper topped with a glittering bow and small card.

He was a tad bit nervous, as can be imagined.

Well, to be honest, he was scared shitless. Holly had long ago taught him to be wary of women with strange boxes.

He hoped the note would clarify things. All it said was: _Turnabout is fair play. ;p_

Trouble made sure to tell Tuyet to delay his morning briefings for ten minutes, then locked the door. He approached the box with supreme caution, grasping the individually wrapped lid and gingerly sliding it off in the smallest of increments. Like an action hero about to steal the ancient treasure of a warlike and very tricky tribe, he awaited the explosion.

"Nyeeeeeeew."

Trouble blinked. His sound recognition training identified the noise immediately, but he could not believe his ears, leaning over the box for visual confirmation.

He didn't really know the breeds, and would be somewhat clueless as Lili explained lilac points (it didn't look purple in the least...) and Siamese off-shoots, but he could identify a cat. Or, more accurately, a kitten.

It cast a reproachful look up at the elf and the lights beyond. "Nyeeeeew!" It complained again, stretching and trying to cover it's eyes with creamy, fuzzy paws. It yawned, pink tongue sticking all the way out, and scooted closer to the hot water bottle that had been left as a comfort and replacement for it's missing litter-mates.

It was not in Trouble to squeal and coo over baby animals, but he was at least honest in his words. "You are the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen," he murmured. The cat continued to drowse, but no one can resist the urge to hold something that fluffy. He reached into the box and scooped up the kitten, bringing it to his chest.

A light crinkling alerted him to the presence of a piece of paper. Trouble plucked it from the kitten's collar, finding another note form Lili.

_After that stunt you pulled, I thought it best to remind you: this is the only pussy you'll ever get from me. Meet you for supply shopping after work. Best get yourself an energy drink before we go._

He laughed at the same time as he shuddered over the idea of shopping with Frond. That note was all Lili: to the point, crude, and non-negotiable.

Or so she thought.

Finding a new heat source, and this one with a pulse, the kitten writhed until she managed to slip her bottom into the elf's collar, the thick starch supporting her backside as her paws came up to get a clawless grip on his neck. She calculated her cutest possible move, reaching up one tiny paw to pat at the man's cheek, and then snuggled closer, purr volume turned up to 11.

Despite his masculine exterior, Trouble melted inside, and he reached up to rub a single finger under the kitten's chin. As he did so, he came across the collar and small metal disk. With much twisting in order to keep his new charge from being unduly disturbed, he managed to bring the disk into view. It had his own name, address, phone number, and...

"'Shirley'," Trouble read. "Of course. That woman..."

The kitten purred, putting one paw out in the air, claws extended as she kneaded at nothing.

"You are both lucky," Trouble whispered, complying with the cat's wishes for more scratching, "that you are so damn cute."

The kitten deepened her purr. All was in order. The elf was her slave forever. Purrrrrfect.

* * *

**Preview: "****Look to the left,/ look to the right./ Do you get scared in the middle of the night?/ Take one step back and forth again./ Tell me are you really my friend?/ For I believe there's so many years to go./ And I don't know how we get ourselves from here to there.../ oh, from here to there. ****"**

* * *

**I am faintly ashamed of the last word, but I'm not changing it.**

**As with the puppy, please go to Google images, look up "Balinese Mamunax." First result. Basically, the least-masculine cat I could think up.**

**The pet thing will become important one day. I swear.**


	40. How Do We Get From Here To There?

**For those of you who don't know, I am hosting another story contest. The prompt can be found at the end of my newest one-shot, "It Is Better to Give."**

* * *

**Song: "Here to There" by Sonya Kitchell**

* * *

**Chapter 40: How Do We Get From Here to There?**

**Week 34**

Vinyáya knew something was amiss. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that something was flawed in the currents of the Plaza, and the fact that she did not know exactly what this flaw was worried her. There was no fairy in the world with more Intel than she, yet no search she did on the servers clarified her feelings. Whatever this was, it was viral; all word-of-mouth, and so carefully guarded that she considered a little espionage of her own. It was only the knowledge that her work relationship with Holly might be a tab bit frayed if she conducted an interview by garroting the woman with the piton chord hidden in the middle dial of her watch that kept her from getting the swiftest possible answer.

As it happened, Holly did not have complete control over the plot. There was one woman higher than her. One woman that knew all, saw all, ordered all. One woman that Vinyáya knew, she _knew_ to be the ringleader, the second she saw her. When the commander followed her young protege into the break room and saw _this_ woman and her ruthless minions ranged on the flanks, all became terrifyingly, inescapably clear. This...was the end.

Hibiscus screamed. "Surprise!"

Her all-female squadron pulled their triggers, sending jets of confetti straight into Vinyáya's face. "Happy baby shower!"

* * *

When Grub arrived at the Ops Booth to pick up another batch of sleeper-seekers, he was disgruntled to find himself being completely ignored. This had once been the way of things, but he'd at least developed a professional relationship with Fowl over the last few months, so he was loath to relinquish even a friendly "hello." Thus, rather than muttering as he gathered his supplies, Grub walked up to Fowl and Foaly, both of whom were lounging indulgently as they watched a video feed, hissing and snickering to each other.

"Oh, screen-shot, screen-shot!" Foaly screeched, then paused, one long finger pointing at the display, mouth open in a grin of utter joy. "Oh, _yes!_ Perfect! Artemis, I owe you. Big time."

The elf shook his head, if a bit reluctantly. "This is all recording, Foaly, as you well know. You set the surveillance system up, remember?"

"It's just the joy of the _catch_," the senior techie giggled, pinching at the image, the many camera in the ops booth registering the gesture, allowing him to drag it across a half-dozen screens and fling it at the largest, which was affixed high overhead.

Grub looked up and felt his heart stall.

Vinyáya's face looked down at him, frozen in terror.

"Wh-what is going on!" He barked, dashing to the techies' sides, making the centaur start and Artemis miss a keystroke.

First correcting his mistake, the elf moved his chair back, sweeping a hand at the screen. "See for yourself."

Trepidation filling his every scarce breath, Grub came forward to observe the terrible scene.

* * *

"Now, remember," Hibiscus squealed, "if someone catches you saying 'baby,' then you have to give them your pin!" She affixed a safety pin to the commander's chest, flicking her finger at it to make the ornament—a miniature, naked, crawling infant with a far-too-adult face—sway back and forth, it's small chain twisting

Vinyáya did not look at the supposedly enticing bauble. Instead, she looked about the room. _Women._ All women. Not that she had a problem with the company of the fairer sex. Just...they all looked at her stomach hungrily. As if they wold love to see if tearing the fetus from her uterus and shoving it into their own womb would be feasible.

She was going to have nightmares about this for _years._

"Alright," Holly cheered, turning to the pary and holding up a huge, gleaming knife. "We ready?"

Eyes nearly popping out of her head, the commaner stumbled away from the major, a hand flying down to cover her stomach.

Holly blinked at her boss, before saying, almost reluctantly, "So, um...you don't want cake?"

* * *

Fowl and Foaly were crying, hands on each-other's shoulders for support.

"Oh...oh, gods," Foaly wheezed. "Her face...her _face_."

"Just wait a few minutes," Artemis said, wiping at his eyes. "The first game they're going to play is guessing the circumference of her waist."

"Oh, _no!_" Foaly whinnied so loud that Fowl flinched away. "Caballine told me about that, when she was expecting Flash! She was _furious_ when everyone guessed so high!"

"Told you?" Artemis said, a brow raised. "Weren't you present?"

Snorting, Foaly said, "Not a chance. Was out with the guys. I love my kid, don't get me wrong, but you wouldn't catch me dead playing pin-the-umbilical-cord-on-the-fetus or cooing over," he held his hands up to his face, fingers pinched, as if holding something tiny, "ickle, bitty first booties!" He spoke in a high-pitched, thoroughly insulting impression of a woman.

"If those asinine games Holly mentioned are any indication of what shall transpire during her own shower, I believe I shall pass, as well." Artemis looked at the screen and stuck out his tongue. "I can take that cake being shaped like a diaper, but did it have to be filled with chocolate mousse frosting? The visuals..."

Foaly—a great lover of cake, as his paunch proclaimed—also gave the dribbling brown goo a sour look. "I tell you, Captain, it's a good thing you've got the excuse of a heavy workload to save you. Just imagine what those _women_," he shook his head at the unsuitable name and looked over his shoulder, "would make you...do?"

Catching the tone, Artemis joined Foaly in glancing behind to address Kelp, only to find him suddenly absent, except for perhaps a little fading after-image. "What in the—"

"I win!" A voice roared from the screens.

The techies turned to see a tall, long-haired elf male standing amidst a circle of groaning ladies, holding up a piece of paper with a very specific number written and double-underlined across the front, done hastily in Little Girl Pink (which, of course, was glittery).

* * *

Holly was bent double, holding a bit of measuring tape, screeching at the expression on Vinyáya's face.

The Wing Commander had gone quite white, and her fists were clenched at her side to reign in an attack. "It's the damn baby's fault! I'm a size four when you haven't inseminated me!"

"You said it!" The entire room screamed, making the commander jump back, one hand flying up to guard her face, the other returning to her stomach. When Grub advanced, hand out, she retreated further. "Back off, Kelp!"

"Give it to me, Vin," he ordered, curling his fingers at the air.

She stared at the hand, uncomprehending. "What? I'm not giving you anything!"

"It's only right," he said, stepping forward again. "You know the rules. You said it."

She took another step back and found herself pressed against a pantry door. It clanged loudly, though she was sure her heart beat faster than the metal reverberated. "What did I say?" Surely she got his name right, and she hadn't slipped on the gender again, had she? The commander racked her mind for details.

"You wont trick me like that," Grub purred, reaching out.

"_Back off_," she screamed, closing her eyes. And then she felt the tug on her shirt as Grub's lithe fingers took hold. She prepared for her world to change irreversibly.

A second later, he let go and stepped away with a cheery, "Thanks!"

After another second, Vinyáya opened one eye.

Grub happily affixed the scary baby pin to his shirt, right below his first, and the two clacked together like bones. He looked at Vinyáya and grinned. "I win!"

She gaped at him, and knew the whiteness of her fear was being replaced by an absolute maroon.

Beyond Grub, the women grinned. Hibiscus especially had a twinkle in her eyes, hands clasped before her breasts. They awaited the future mother's response with bated breath.

"_KELP, YOU MORON, DON'T CALL ME 'VIN'!"_

* * *

Back in the Ops booth, Artemis shook head head as, beside him, Foaly smacked his face and groaned.

"That is just...undignified."

* * *

Vinyáya glared sideways at her co-parent. The women in here seemed to...buzz about him. Yes, buzz. Like _flies_ on a particularly fresh cow patty. He was eating it up, too. Playing their little games, talking about the nursery he had decorated. He was the first to finish the simple cross-words and answer on the pregnancy-related quizzes and other games she would have associated more with children on a long shuttle ride than adults in the LEP.

She participated, but took the precaution of discretely losing in the second or third round of each game. She was glad to be out of the B-word restriction. The women were vicious. One slipped tongue, and someone unerringly screeched, nearly ripping the pin from the conquered. It was a fierce, rapid battle, and now only two champions remained. Holly and Grub circled each other like rabid wolves.

Hibiscus—wearing a black dress that Vinyáya would have more associated with a woman just widowed from her husband of four times her age than with a baby shower host—took to the center of the room, clapping for attention. "Everyone, everyone!" When she had their focus, she shook her head to let her bouncing red hair fall in a particularly alluring way over one eye (Vinyáya suddenly had an extra reason to hate the 400-year-younger woman). "It's...that...ti-ime!" She sang, shimmying her shoulders, the loose neck of her dress quivering in revealing conjunction.

Vinyáya was pleased to note that Grub seemed phenomenally embarrassed by his mother's dress. Good. She looked like a floozie.

_ Oh, gods_, Vinyáya suddenly thought. _Floozie? How old _am_ I?_

"It's time," a clap, "for," another clap and a long pause as the woman cast her eyes about the room. Holding onto the tension. Savoring the attention.

Grub whimpered, shifting in his chair.

Vinyáya rolled her eyes.

"_Presents!"_ Hibiscus shrieked, and the women followed suit. Caballine nearly kicked over the snack table in her bucking excitement. There was a stampede towards the chairs, and Vinyáya found herself swept along, set in the middle of the semi-circle, with Grub on one side and Hibiscus on the other.

"This just isn't right," she muttered.

There were insistent calls of "me first!" and a dozen pink and blue boxes were shoved into Vinyáya's face. She stared at them all until Hibiscus took charge and plucked up a flat one and handed it to the expectant mother.

All waited. None breathed.

Soon, Grub squirmed. "Well? Open it!"

Numbly, Vinyáya followed orders, blinking down at a book of baby's firsts. Which she proclaimed it to be, with all the emotion of a recovering lobotomy patient.

"Ooooh!" Grub snatched it away, opening to the first few pages. "Does it have...does it _have_...yes, it does!" He turned the book around, pointing at a pocket of fine parchment paper. "For the umbilical cord!"

The large majority of the room cooed without reserve.

"Next, next," Grub insisted, grasping at the air. He was given the box, this time, and tore into it, wrapping paper flying like wood chips at a saw mill. He flipped the lid and gasped, pulling out red sneakers. "They're so _tiny_," he squealed.

The room echoed him like good little cult members.

Vinyáya leaned in, whispering so the giver could not hear. "Are you _sure_ you not even a _little—"_

"How many times do we have to do this joke!" Grub hissed, snapping his head in her direction.

Their noses brushed and breath mingled for the smallest of instants before both elves jumped back, hearts hammering.

"Ooooo!" The room chorused like school girls. Someone tried clinking their red cup with a plastic spoon, bit the effect was wanting, and she soon stopped.

"None of that here," Lety, Verres's secretary, chided, dark eyes flashing. "That's what got you into this mess, you know."

Vinyáya was saved from a splutter and the unintended confession that, no, kissing hadn't been involved at _all_ by Caballine shoving a box into her face. "Mine! Mine!" She had, as it seemed, forgiven the Wing Commander, on the principle of...well, babies.

Full of trepidation, Vinyáya took the box, judging the weight. It was remarkably light for it's size, and nothing seemed to be shifting. It must have been securely packed.

Her ears tingled like mad. She eyed Caballine, who flicked her hands, urging her on.

Swallowing, the secret agent first mentally reviewed the procedures for defusing a bomb (more a comfort thing than a practical concern), then ripped the box open, thrusting her hand inside and yanking out the contraption.

For a second, she was sure it _was_ a bomb. Then she failed to find the incendiaries and frowned. She had never seen something like this before. There were little containers with cones on top of the resivours, and each of these was connected via a long, clear tube to what seemed to be some sort of docking station. The station only had a an on/off button, and she resolved to _keep_ the thing off until she was sure that it was not, in fact, explosive. "What...is this?" The product name gave her no further clues. _Everflo_. It sounded like a drain cleaner.

Beside her, Grub's eyes went wide and his face turned the sort of red that young boys dream of having painted on sports cars. "It's a...you know," he stammered, merely drawing more attention to himself, which just made his speech more difficult. "For...um..." He made a loose gesture towards her torso.

"For _what_?" She demanded. The stern tone had the opposite effect as what she had intended, as Grub looked away, turning even redder. "_What?_"

Rolling her eyes, Holly leaned forward. She grabbed one of the containers and thrust it onto Vinyáya's left boob.

The Wing Commander stared at the arrangement for some time. "Oh," she finally said, understanding.

"You know what they say," Caballine tittered. "'Breast is best!' And what else are you going to do with those monsters?"

Vinyáya again visually inspected her now-massive knockers. She seemed puzzled. As if she had never seen them before, and wasn't quite sure how they got there.

Beside her, Grub tried to melt into his chair. Which, if he got a little hotter, could easily happen, though the smell of burning plastic would have alerted all to his escape attempt.

Across from him, Lety's dark eyes sparked. She leaned over, plopping her silver box onto the man's lap. Silky black hair fell to obscure her pixie face, creating a mask. "I didn't expect you here, but I'm really glad you came. This is more of a gift for _you_ than for her, you know."

Grub sobered quickly. Lety was on his list. The "women who make me want to piss myself" list. The fact that she was his new boss's personal secretary was completely unfair. It almost leveled out his job's new perks.

He put his hand on the gift and gulped, nodding acknowledgement, then studied the wrapping. The top and bottom of the clothes box had been individually wrapped, so all he had to do was lift off the lid and look within. Which he did.

He was suddenly breathless, eyes wide. Now he finally knew for sure: evil was inherited on maternal lines.

It looked very delicate. More-so than any set he'd seen before. Mostly black, but decorated with thin threads of gold to form a few tiny heart outlines. A final, minuscule splotch of color was added by a red heart-shaped plastic gem in the top seam of each item, directly in the center.

He keened deep in his throat and kept his gaze locked on the gifts. They were mortifying, but the other option was to look at the women. And that meant swift death.

"Alluring," Lety explained, as if she was the lead in an infomercial, "and yet..." She reached out and pushed at the tip of one bra cup, moving the fabric away to reveal a hole. "So very functional! Do you like them?"

Grub felt tears prickle the corners of his eyes. Despite his focus on the bra and panty set, his peripheral vision caught a shift of silver as Vinyáya moved her head to take in the gift, and then watch him. Very, very carefully.

"Oh, he doesn't like them," Lety moaned, picking up the lace side-tie shorts and shaking them. "I just _knew_ the crotchless ones were the better pick..."

"Lety!" A voice rumbled from the door. The voice of a glorious savior.

Grub looked up, and the moisture in his eyes was joined by a flood of relief, making him spill over. "Trouble!"

The commander nodded at his sibling, then glared at the pixie. "Mind leaving my little brother alone?"

The pixie pouted. "But he came to us..." And, by her tone, this meant he was now a very lovely toy that could be played with until broken.

"That's because he's an idiot that's turning into far more of a girl than is healthy," Trouble replied. Focusing on his brother, he jerking his thumb at the door. "Come on. It's your shift in Recon, so I'm authorizing you for a half-day. We're going out."

Turning without thinking, Grub thrust the lingerie box onto Vinyáya's lap and scurried off before she could react. If he had glanced back, he would have seen her recoil from the box, slamming the lid back on and almost tossing it to the floor.

Giving the women one last stern look, Trouble left, titters following the men a few seconds later.

"He's so _mean," _Lety complained, and Holly, who was standing a bit behind the pixie, stuck her finger down her throat and rather artfully mimed vomiting. Vinyáya smirked in commiseration, though Hibiscus scowled at the rudeness.

Clueless, the pixie went on, gesturing avidly, with the same sort of Hill-born grace as the absent Frond heiress. "It's just impossible to find a good man, these days. You know, I went out for an evening with Councilman Lope not long ago." She shuddered delicately, one hand laying on her breast as she addressed the resident Council member. "I can see why you left him."

Vinyáya tilted her head a fraction. Much as she now knew the man was a two-faced amalgamation of the world's most putrid scum, he had been the perfect partner while they dated. "Oh? How so?"

"Well," Lety said, leaning in towards Vinyáya, as if she longed to be private in her confession, though she did not seem perturbed when the rest of the women also leaned in to listen, and not even lowering her voice. "The night went _spectacularly_, so we went back to his flat for...coffee." She winked, and the women giggled, knowing quite well what that was a code word for. "And things were going really, _really_ well, when all of a sudden he asked me to..." She flapped her hands in the air, overcome. "Oh, goodness, I can't say!"

Hibiscus, gossip-hunter that she was, leaned in even further, eyes shining. "What? Do tell!"

Reveling in the attentions, Lety put her hands on her cheek, shaking her head. "Well, he asked me to...I can't! I can't, it's too embarrassing!"

"_Tell_," Hibiscus insisted, almost sternly.

Lety hesitated. Then she made a come-hither motion with her index finger. When Hibiscus complied, they went cheek-to-cheek and the pixie whispered in the elf's ear.

Hibiscus jerked back, mouth agape. "_No!_"

"_Yes_," the pixie insisted. "Can you believe it?"

"That's...that's unsanitary!" A short pause. "Did you?"

"Gods, no!" Lety shuddered. "I'm not into..._that_."

Behind the woman, Holly snorted.

The other guests began to clamor for a revelation, and a chain of whispers soon began. Vinyáya did not need to be let in on the secret, but she submitted and tried to act surprised when Hibiscus leaned over and shared.

Dear gods. What horror had she let loose upon the world?

* * *

Like most police forces, the LEP had their own favorite bar. It wasn't actually the one closest to the station, but a block further on, deeper into the shopping district. Originally, the bar that was in closest proximity to the Plaza had been the preferred local, but things had changed when a clever gnome private had helped the owners of Lucas's Tavern track down an employee that had absconded with the company's banking information. The proprietor had been so thankful for the help that he promised—indefinitely—to give an extra 10% off all drinks to officers that flashed their badge. The Tavern was now among the most crowded in Haven (the discount easily made up for by the huge increase in sales) and possibly the safest, considering how many trained officers could be found within at any time.

Trouble ignored the packed front of the establishment, going to the back and commandeering a two-person table tucked in a corner. They would not be eating in this location, as the food wasn't discounted, and the portions were meager, so Grub knew they would be in the somewhat cramped quarters for only an hour or so. Just long enough to get inebriated and then set off for a restaurant with a bit more sustenance

"Those women looked like they were going to eat you alive," Trouble commented as the waitress clinked his Jack and Coke down on the steel table. He gave her a smile, and she sent it back with a sly wink. It was nice when the ladies didn't get mad that he opted out of second dates. She'd been a nice shag, but had spent the entire evening before tumbling into bed nattering on about her pet goldfish. Which she forgot to feed that night, thanks to his efforts. She'd been horrified in the morning, and disappeared even before he could make her breakfast.

"It was all going so well," Grub bemoaned, taking a deep gulp of his raspberry margarita before continuing. "Until Lety and those...those..."

"Fuck-me panties?" Trouble supplied.

Grub nodded vigorously. "Who the hell gives that kind of thing at a baby shower?"

"Ah!" Trouble crowed, holding out his hand. "Give it."

Grub blinked. "Huh"

Trouble reached over, unpinning the mass of B-word medallions from his brother's chest and affixing them to his own collar. When Grub pouted, he thumped the younger man's fore head with his palm. "Them's the rules. And, as for who, Lety. Holly, if she was looking for revenge. Maybe Lili, if she'd been there."

"That woman is evil," Grub muttered, and Trouble made no moves to deny it. Then, drink halfway to his mouth, Grub paused and looked at Trouble as he processed the second part. "Lili wasn't invited?"

"She was," Trouble clarified. "She just didn't want to be at her ex's shower. As you can imagine."

Grub sighed and took a large drink, grimacing midway and slamming the glass back down. He looked at the alcohol, alarmed, and then back to his brother. "You're not going to get me smashed and draw on me again, are you?"

Trouble chuckled, but shook his head. "I'm not exactly pleased with you, but Lili begged me to not do that. And what the princess wants, the princess gets."

"Oh...good," Grub said softly, shifting his glass so the bottom angled, the entire thing going into a slow wobble, making the red liquid slosh gently. He did not drink, but watched the slight shift in tone as the ice and berries moved about.

Trouble watched his brother, waiting for more. When it did not come, he sighed, reaching out to put two fingers on the base of the glass, halting it's oscillations. When Grub looked at him, sullen, he shot the conversation ahead to his true purpose. "So, when are you going to tell Vinyáya that you have more serious intentions?" To show that he would not elaborate, Trouble began to drink.

"I dunno," Grub muttered, yanking his margarita back. "When are _you_ going to tell _Lili?_"

Trouble choked, also slamming his drink back down, spraying the table with Jack and Coke. It dripped from both mouth and nose, and he grabbed a napkin to wipe at his face, snorting to remove the remnants from his sinuses. "Ah! What the...dear gods, that _stings!_" It, in fact, stung far more than the individual components. There was some terrible alchemy involved.

Grub scowled and picked up a chunk of napkins, wiping at the spill on the table, making sure his fingers were never dampened by the nose-originating mess. He pushed the soiled ones to Trouble's side. Then he inspected his drink. Finding it untainted, he brought it closer to his chest for safe keeping, one hand hovering over to guard against further airborn assaults.

Some seconds later, Trouble blinked rapidly, fighting back painful tears, and stared at his brother. "I...um what do you mean, 'tell Lili'?" He laughed once.

"Oh, smooth denial," Grub sneered. When Trouble did not respond, he huffed. "Come _on,_ Trouble. Don't act like I'm a moron."

Trouble swallowed, and his pupils seemed to be growing larger with each round of the interchange "But...I've never said...how do you know!"

Snorting dismissively, Grub said, "Everyone knows, Trouble. Everyone but Lili, apparently. Have you ever been friends with a woman for this long without sleeping with her?"

"Holly," Trouble pointed out.

"Who has spent the last ten years dating Fowl, and the ten before that with some creepy underage sexual tension going on." Grub took a sip and, when he spoke again, shifted focus back to the true subject at hand. "She's gorgeous, so you have to want her. And I've never known you to want someone and not go after them without good reason. So...no-brainer, really."

Trouble scowled. "Wait..so...you _knew_, and you still _dated_ her?"

"Well, yeah," Grub said, shrugging. "Did you hear the 'she's gorgeous' part? I wasn't going to say no." He took a sip and, finding his brother still speechless by the time he was done, went on. "And, besides, I figured you'd make a scene eventually, if you really wanted to have your way."

Trouble blinked. "You...you're an asshole!"

Grub considered this. Then nodded. He moved on. "So, you gonna tell her?"

"I don't know!" Trouble yelled, flailing his arms about, nearly knocking his drink over. "You break her heart, and then she gets drunk off her ass and tries to seduce me and...and..." He trailed off, lost.

Grub raised his brows. "Tried to seduce you? And you turned her down?"

"I don't sleep with women if they're drunk, Grub! It's...it's just wrong."

Grub frowned, looking about the bar. "I always see you bringing dates in here, though."

"A drink or two to start the night, get us loosened up, set the mood. I don't take anyone home unless I'm _sure_ they're sobered up."

Suddenly very concerned, Grub looked at his drink. "Trouble, are you trying to seduce me?"

Trouble heaved. After a good dozen full-body convulsions, he reached out to punch the offender's shoulder. "You should be so lucky, you snot."

"Thanks, really," Grub grumbled, rubbing his shoulder. "You're not my type."

"Cougar hunter," Trouble muttered.

Grub, graciously, ignored him. Though his reasons for not complaining were not all noble and altruistic, and nowhere near a sign of developing maturity. The fact of the matter was simply that Trouble would be a lot more tormented by staying on subject than deviating for whining. "But, seriously, how do you do it? I'd only had a few girlfriends before Lili, and those relationships crashed faster than the Goblin Stock Exchange."

"Yeah, well, staying power isn't exactly my specialty, either" Still, Trouble considered the question as he took a long drink, during which time Grub remained politely silent. "Nice dinners. Dancing. Little touches. The Look."

"Look?" Grub repeated, maintaining the capitalization within the tone.

"Oh, yeah," Trouble nodded. "Always works for me. Lili said you could do it, actually. Freaked her out a bit."

Grub snorted when he recalled his carpool conversation with the Frond from what seemed like so long ago. "Oh. That. You're crazy. That doesn't work."

"Oh, hell yes, it does!" Trouble cast his gaze about the room until it lit upon a working sprite. She had slightly altered her waitress uniform, cinching up the shirt in the front so the neckline was dragged down and her midriff was exposed, showing off a stomach with a tiny bit too much padding for the alteration to be perfect, though not so much as to be detrimental to her appearance.

"Our waitress keeps looking at us," Trouble said, pointing over at the sprite. "Next time she does, we do it together, okay?"

Reluctantly, Grub nodded, then focused on the little sprite.

True to his brother's words, it wasn't twenty seconds before the women turned to spy on their table, and she smiled nervously when she realized she'd been caught, waving the hand that was not holding her full drink tray.

Grub began. He angled one brow, the eyes below going soft as he considered the woman, projecting interest, confidence, and, above all else desire. A desire that had been denied for so long, but which could be focused with complete intensity on a single, perfect object. And that object was this little flutter-winged fairy. He smirked knowingly, trying to hold a conversation that was all non-verbal.

The waitress froze completely, staring back at the brothers. With no reaction but staring possible, the tray full of drinks tilted...and tipped...and crashed to the floor, glass shattering, ice cubes flying into the distance, alcohol coating the woman's feet in an inebriating tidal wave. Shocked free, the waitress went into a frenzy, apologizing to nearby drinkers and shouting for a broom as she picked up the largest chunks of glass.

Grub snapped his head back to his brother, almost hyperventilating as he sunk low into his seat, trying to avoid further notice. "Oh gods!" He shot a terrified look at the sprite, and then back to his brother again. "We need to leave her a _huge_ tip!"

Trouble chuckled, but nodded. "See what I mean?"

"That really doesn't help us," Grub responded, a little shrill panic still in his voice. Such a victory was encouraging, but he also felt _terrible_ for the damages.

"Hmm?" Trouble replied, finishing off his drink, planning to slip the sprite a large bill, sans change demands, with his next order. "It's always worked fine before."

"Trouble," Grub said seriously, "as much as this may blow your mind, neither of us is after sex."

"Hey," Trouble snapped, "speak for yourself." Still, he understood what Grub meant, and agreed. Even if it was against just about everything he stood for.

"We've got to do something," Grub said, more to himself.

"Something?"

"Something!" Grub shouted, slamming his palms to the table.

A second later, he lifted them and winced, the dried syrup from his brother's little explosion clinging to his fingers. He looked between his palms. Then he held the soiled hands out for his brother to inspect.

Trouble didn't bother, as the waitress had arrived (never had he seen a sprite so red, and her feet kept leaving the ground as her wings fluttered) to get their next order. A large-denomination coin was passed with their requests, and Trouble also asked for a few moist towelettes for his fastidious brother, which the waitress was able to produce from her apron, to Grub's eternal thanks.

"I'm just saying," Grub went on as she left, wiping his digits clean, each sweep making him feel a little better, "we maybe should do something." He visibly relaxed as his hands were sanitized, the crawl on his spine diminishing. Grub wasn't a true germaphobe, but he hated the idea of having mucus-mixed stickyness on his person.

"Like what?" Trouble prompted again.

"Something that wont get us killed seems prudent." Grub blew out a quick breath, trying to usher a loose, feathery bit of hair behind his eyes, failing rather spectacularly. "Like...Lili was really upset when Vinyáya told everyone about the kid, since she thought I was just using her..."

Trouble growled as a reminder that his little brother _had_ been doing so, even if the use was not a sexual one.

Pressing back on the table so his chair would develop some more distance, Grub went on. "I just mean that you should make sure she knows that's not what you're after."

Trouble considered this. "How?"

Grub rolled his eyes. "I dunno..._tell her_? She's your friend. I think she might believe it from you." He wanted to reach out and whap his brother across the side of the head, but was merciful and wise (as Trouble would probably have shoved his face onto the unclean tabletop for the affront).

"Makes sense, kind of," Trouble conceded, then took a fortifying sip as his new drink was bought forth, his brother following suit after thanking the waitress. Now imbued with liquid courage, they seemed much more cheerful about their romantic prospects, as men generally are after the first few rounds.

"So, what do I do?" Grub said, licking the small bit of raspberry off the top of his drink. "I mean...it's not like we haven't had sex before. And we're already living together. What else is left?"

"Make her tolerate you," Trouble suggested.

Grub frowned, but did not protest.

"Okay, okay. In all seriousness, I hate to blame the little blighter, but I think the baby is part of your problem."

"The...why?" Grub barked, and Trouble could almost see the young man's hackles rising in defence of the coming cub.

"Well, I mean, the kid's a big thing, yeah, but not exactly a good basis for a relationship. Branch out, man. Talk about _anything_ but the baby, for a change. I mean, she's got her own interests, right?"

Grub almost stroked his chin in thought. Then he smiled, an obvious connection sparking in his head. "I...do have an idea. I mean, it's not exactly sweep-her-off-her-feet material..."

"The only thing Vinyáya's feet would do if you tried that is kick you in the balls."

His brother was undeniably right. Solemnly, Grub crossed his legs.

"Okay," Trouble charged ahead, "how about we do it on Friday? A week from today?"

"W-what?" Grub squeaked, sitting straighter. "So soon? I-I don't know..."

"Hey," Trouble barked, giving the man a new punch, this one meant to fortify. "Lili moves fast. If I don't, she's bound to get attached to another asshole."

Grub pouted, waiting for the "present company excepted" that would never come.

After nearly a minute, grumbling, the captain did one last cleansing wipe on his hand. Then he gathered his courage and extended the hand across the table. "A week from today, then."

Trouble slapped their hands together (momentarily surprised by his little brother's strong grip) and finalized the sealing handshake. "A deal!" Taking his hand away, he picked up his glass and presented it in the air. "Tonight, we drink like single men for the last time!"

"Hell yeah!" Grub cheered, crashing their glasses together, downing the entire margarita in a few gulps.

He was going to need to drink a _lot_ tonight if he wanted to keep from freaking out about what they'd just done.

* * *

**Preview: "This time/ don't need another perfect lie./ Don't care if critics never jump in line./ I'm gonna give all my secrets away."**


	41. Give All My Secrets Away

**Apologies for the long break. I was having a devil of a time with this chapter. On the plus, it's over 10,000 words!**

**So...some bad news. NaNoWriMo begins on November 1st, and I have finally discovered the idea that makes people's jaws drop when I pitch it. Literally. It was pretty awesome watching two grown women gape at me. I _have_ to write this book. Which means November is not going to have many updates. I'll do my best over the next week to type up what's in my notebooks, so you have something to enjoy. If all goes well, that means a few _Fowl Ties_ (shut _up_, Ru, I know!), one or two _Ma Bete Noire_, and maybe the first chapter of a new story. I don't relish the latter so much, as the story is a mystery, and I sort of haven't set up clues, yet.**

**So, sorry for my coming absence, but this idea? The jaw-dropping one? Just you wait, I'll be getting an Alex Award in 2 or 3 years. Guaranteed. It's _brilliant_. Wish me luck!**

* * *

**Song: "Secrets" by OneRepublic (epic song, go listen)**

* * *

**Chapter 41: Give All My Secrets Away**

**Week 34-part 2**

"Lili," Trouble called out upon entering Frond mansion on Saturday morning, following the night of revelry with his brother. He had not come across the royal during their drunken sojourn, and so hadn't made a fool of himself by blabbing their plans; thus, he was free to follow tradition and appear unannounced on the Hill, ready for a lazy Saturday with his future mate (or so he hoped).

"You here, Lili? I brought a guest!" He faced the door, doing up every lock, again muttering about the woman's penchant for forgetting these little safety details. If she'd been in any way connected to fairy politics, Lili would have long ago been attacked, this bad habit of hers making things all too easy for fanatics. At least the lack of a secure house meant she was indeed present, as she did have at least enough sense to do a few locks before leaving the Hill.

"Tiger Lily?" He called again, adjusting the wriggling bag strapped across his shoulders. He turned and took a step towards the back halls. "Ti-AH!" Trouble jolted, jumping backwards and slamming into the front door, bag squeaking in protest.

Lili stood before him, eyes brimming with tears. "I'm a_ terrible_ person, Trouble."

"What?" Initial alarm was instantly augmented by real fear, and Trouble reached out to Lili, grasping her upper arms to steady her. She looked suddenly wispy and ready to blow away. "Lili, what's wrong? What happened?"

"He hates me," Lili sniffled, wiping at her cheeks. "But I had to do it, Trouble!"

"Who hates you?" He demanded, pulling her closer, in case the person she spoke of was hidden somewhere in the mansion, waiting to strike. "What happened!"

"It was the only way!" She wailed, thumping her forehead against Trouble's chest, sobbing.

"Lili," Trouble barked, squeezing her arms to try to bring focus to her words. "_What happened?_"

A long, low whine came from the living room.

Nails clicking slowly on the marble floors, Regal came into the entryway, his head hanging as low as it possibly could, tail clamped up against his belly. His muzzle could have perhaps gone even lower, if not impeded by the opaque, white plastic dish surrounding the pup's neck, extending to a length even with his nose. Every so often, as he came across a seam in the floor, the surgery collar's rim jammed, making the puppy yip and shake his head before starting again.

"Oh..." Trouble whispered, relief flooding him, replaced by an all-consuming pity.

When he finally reached the elf pair, Regal sat carefully. Very carefully. He looked up at Trouble, ears laid back, eyes out of focus from the last remnants of painkillers, and whined. "She...she let the men in coats..._take_ them."

The elder male tried to think of something comforting, but found his thoughts interrupted by an ear-splitting yowl. His bag sprouted veritable razors, which hit the commander with complete accuracy, turning a place on his side that was normally somewhat ticklish into one big wound.

Lili blinked at the convulsing gym bag at her friend's side, scowling in disapproval at the blue sparks flashing across Trouble's abs. "Oh, d'arvit. Let me guess..."

Without waiting for Lili to utter her second guest's name, Trouble unzipped the bag, freeing the assassin.

A gray and white head popped out far sooner than Trouble would have suspected was possible, given the width of the opening at the time, and a fuzzy body followed, writhing as it was caught at the hips before slipping free and plopping onto the floor. Despite popular belief that cats land on their feet, Shirley managed to catch a back paw on the bag and flip, taking a direct impact to her back. She squeaked in distress and glared up at the elves, as if her stumble was entirely their fault..

Regal suddenly perked up at the noise. His tail did not wag, but his head tilted sideways, whining. While the kitten remained stunned, he padded forward, sniffing. The data he got from this inspection made his ears shoot forward, and he came even closer.

Trouble watched, first with trepidation, and then true alarm as Regal looked straight down at his new pet, domed medical collar sealing the kitten and his head away from view. There came a snuffling from the enclosure, and then Regal yipped, body going rigid.

"Regal," Lili growled authoritatively, "what are you..."

She petered out as Regal looked up. Or at least his head lifted. There wasn't any looking involved, seeing as his muzzle was now completely covered by kitten, it's rear dangling off past his nose, which was still snuffling enthusiastically. The feline tail lashed a warning that was lost on the blinded dog.

Slowly, the pup's tail came away from his belly, dangling towards the ground. Then it came up just a fraction, wagging tentatively. "...mine?"

Lili laughed, shaking her head. "A friend."

"My friend?" Regal repeated, tilting his head to the side.

Finding her center of gravity altered, the kitten mewed piteously and lost her grip, sliding off the dog's muzzle and landing (this time on her feet) in front of the curious pup.

There was a long pause as the animal pair inspected each other. Their owners shared a glance, silently debating intervention.

From as far within the tiny, cuddly body as possible, Shirley let out a deep rumble, rising to the tips of her toes and arching her back. Her fur fluffed up, claws coming out, the entire act making her appear twice as large, and quite deadly, even to the elves.

Regal raised his head, woofing softly. His tail ceased wagging.

Shirley began to advance on the pup, moving sideways in little hops.

Whining, Regal took a step back. "Fuh...friend?"

"_En guarde!"_

"Help!" Regal howled, turning tail (literally), nails skittering on the marble floor in a cartoon-like manner before he gained purchase and shot down the halls, Shirley inches behind, swiping at his rump.

Trouble watched them go, blinking. "I...think they like each other."

"Oh, good," Lili beamed. "Nice to know they get along, since they'll probably see each other a lot."

The male turned to inspect Lili's face, her smile making all his fears from the past few minutes melt away. "Yeah," he agreed, squeezing her arms one last time before forcing himself to let go. "They most certainly will."

* * *

**Week 35**

The Kelp boys were jumpier than that oft-tormented cat on a hot tin roof all through the following week, and it was only the thought of the younger's previous excellence in the office that kept Commander Verres from despairing over the new addition to his crew. The commander also placed some of the blame on the constant nuisance of Chix Verbil, back home from E1 for a week's leave, following his latest extended tour of duty. Grub had soured on sight of the sprite, and grew more agitated with every meeting, wherein he was probed about his sudden singledom (and Lili's, by conjunction). Trouble was torn about the sprite's near-constant presence in the Plaza break room, balancing his glee at spending time with his good friend with having to deal with his little brother's complaints, as well as the lieutenant's unnerving interest in the secretary.

Of course, the Kelps had their own, private worries. Two of unmatched weight. The lesser (though by no means negligible) was the family brunch to take place on Saturday morning, bringing them into uncomfortable proximity with their mother (comfortable proximity being entirely dependent on what sort of gun they got to carry at work that day). The greater, filling them with terror each time they saw their prospective ladies, was the Friday night revelations.

The clocks ticked with malevolence as work on Friday came to a close. Time hadn't the decency to either speed up (so they could get things over with quickly) or slow down (to put off the execution of their plans), but came on sedately. Tick. Tick. Tick. Like a chisel at the porous walls of their sanity.

Grub was off precisely at five, terminal fizzing as the color was sucked to nothingness in the middle of the screen, as if overtaken by a black hole. He shouldered his messenger bag and began the death march to his brother's office, knowing that the elder's duties almost inevitably kept him affixed to his desk for another hour past shift's end on Friday.

On turning into the main office corridor, where his brother's rooms were located, Grub felt his heart gripped by icy claws of terror.

Trouble stood at his office door, blankly watching his hand turn the keys in the lock. Then he stepped back and stood there, arms limp at his side. Unmoving.

Coming up, Grub spoke, the sound making his brother blink and look up, as if lost. "You're off already?"

After several seconds and another blink, Trouble nodded. "Yes, yes...an uneventful day." There was a long delay, and then Trouble seemed to burst into action. He brought the keys up again reaching for the door, the metal jangling loudly as he tried to force a key—any key—into the lock, cursing when his first choice didn't fit. "Of course, there's some paperwork left, and—"

Grabbing his brother about the elbow, Grub dragged him down the hall, ignoring the squawking about leave requests and performance evaluations. "Oh no you don't! I am not doing this alone, and we are not putting things off because you suddenly turned chicken!"

Turning to walk forward—rather than being dragged backwards—the Commander tried to reason with his sibling, who seemed to have been replaced by a changeling with a lot more spinal fortitude. "Grub, I don't even know what I'm going to do!"

"Not my problem," Grub said, almost prancing as they descended the stairs, "You had all week to come up with something. Just do what comes naturally."

"What comes naturally," Trouble protested, "usually involves a one-night stand!"

Grub considered this. Then glanced over his shoulder to grin at Trouble. "Think that would impress her enough to stick around?"

"Oh, shut it," Trouble muttered, pushing the younger man's shoulder. Though Grub was a few inches taller, he was far less broad about the shoulders and quite a lot leaner, so he still rocked to the side at the light touch, and this somewhat appeased Trouble. He ran a hand over his face as they came upon the front doors, at the moment held open by the constant flow of officers starting or ending their shifts. "You got any ideas, then?"

A swagger infected Grub's steps as he reached into his bag and brought out a brown-wrapped package. "Just a little anti-baby-shower gift."

Trouble looked at the item and scowled. "What, no major confessions of love?"

Hiding the package again, Grub shook his head. "Didn't have time to get a good life insurance policy, so no. Besides, I didn't expect you to get that far with Lili in one night. Kinda stalker-ish, if you did."

Trouble nodded, feeling a bit better as he realized his portion of the night's bravery did not extend so far as dropping to one knee. "I suppose, yeah."

"Just go on a date," the captain reasoned, smacking his brother on the shoulder. "I mean, I'm just hoping for flirting without getting my genitals mauled."

Trouble winced at the idea, in no way putting such attacks past the wing commander. "Right. Good idea." Gathering himself to stand tall and firm, Trouble nodded. "Tonight is the night! Good luck!"

They clapped hands together in a solidifying and binding shake, and, before either could suggest an extension, turned their backs on each other and marched off. Soldiers with a mission.

* * *

Gods knew what delayed Vinyáya coming home, considering her bike screeched off into the distance at the same time that Grub began his long jog home. He didn't exactly expect her to be waiting when he opened the door, but he anticipated her presence, at least, and was enormously disappointed. In the end, it took her another hour to arrive, giving Grub enough time to frittata and fret. Mostly the latter.

He longed to back down. Things had just begun to get comfortable at the house on the bottom of the Hill, and muddying the clear waters in any way seemed dangerous. Fortunately, Trouble had probably already made his move, and that gave Grub some strength. That and the handful of antacids he'd downed, to keep the bile rising up from his stomach from dissolving his throat before he could actually use it to talk.

She came in saying something about vole curry and Council meetings, looking ill. She offered no apologies for not calling, as she never bothered with such a courtesy, and the very fact that she was explaining herself was promising.

"So...did you manage to eat?" he asked, gesturing over his shoulder, towards the kitchen. "Potato-asparagus frittata."

Hey eyes seemed to light up, at least a little. Of everything in his repertoire, Grub was well aware that this was his best dish, and she had already learned the fact, after only a few times being served the egg-heavy specialty. "Thank the gods, no. Let's hope I can forget those voles long enough to eat."

"I don't think that will be a problem," Grub laughed, walking back towards the kitchen, throwing a comment behind him as he left. "Oh, got you something. I left it on the couch."

In the middle of removing her jacket, Vinyáya slowed, staring down the hall to where the man had just gone out of sight. "You what?"

Grub refused to answer, knowing he had spoken with perfect clarity.

Only when she became certain that he would not respond did Vinyáya finish hanging her jacket and enter the living room. The mess she normally left from her evenings entertaining herself was gone, so there was no denying that the brown-wrapped item left on the couch was what he spoke of. It rested on the middle of three green cushions, covered in the most non-descript paper she had ever seen. Based on the size, it was either a very thin trade paperback or some sort of media.

She came to a conclusion and almost snapped a warning at the man in the kitchen even before she picked up the gift. She really should have known. He'd already given her one birth preparation video (the watching of which had inspired her nightmare that evening), so of _course_ the little OCD-boy was going to give her a second. No doubt it would contradict the first, and he would be in the middle of a little tizzy over which set of advice to follow. Saying dark things under her breath, the commander ripped the brown paper off.

A minute later, Grub came into the living room, bearing two scintillatingly steaming bowls. He noticed the woman sitting on the couch, eyes stuck on her gift, and stopped, swallowing hard. He couldn't read that blank face. Had he made a mistake? Unable to take the great unknown, he coughed to catch her attention.

Somewhat startled, Vinyáya looked up from the gift. "Oh! You..." She petered out, drawn back to what she held in her hands. "This...this is 'Silence on the Wind'."

As if he had not seen the case, Grub took a few steps forward, leaning partway over the couch so he could look at the cover.

On it, a battle-worn female sprite in a LEP wheelie uniform (it's billboard function stuck on a display of "Run!" in Gnommish, with half of the small lights making up the letters either broken or obscured by gore) stood at the top of a small hill. One arm was limp and bleeding at her side, creating a red puddle on her left, while the right clutched an aluminum baseball bat decorated with all the colors of violent death. There were splatters of dark red on her cheek, drawing attention up to hard and ferocious violet eyes. Behind her was the torn landscape of Haven, with a mass of red-eyed shadows advancing from only a few dozen feet away, and further down the hill so that all one could see was heads and shoulders, as well as the occasional lifted, clawing hand. As if to contrast with this intense scene, the title was done in a delicate white text, meant to evoke the winds of which it spoke.

"Well," Grub said unnecessarily, "so it is."

Turning her head, Vinyáya looked up at the man. "Where...in all the hells did you get this?"

"An auction." Grub breezed, putting the bowls down, taking a seat on the couch. He could feel his pulse racing at the impertinence. He'd never yet dared sit on the couch _with_ her. It was._..far_ too forward.

Vinyáya didn't seem to notice his position, still stuck on the gift. She shook her head, eyes darting down to the disc and up again. "I haven't seen a reasonable auction on this in..._ever!" _She didn't go into the history of the game, which was rife with lawsuits and release-day seizures, due to the development team's poorly-hidden joke of blaming the in-game virus on the fictional "Coy-Bot Labs." It had inspired the Councilwoman to hate Opal even before the woman's true nature was revealed.

_ "_Yeah," Grub winced. "I _did _get the impression he was ripping me off, when I went to pick it up."

"You..." She returned her focus to the game. A deep, covetous burning hit her, and she had to take a large breath to force it back down. Holding the game out to the man, she said, "I can't accept this."

Grub looked at her, eyes wide in alarm. "You'd better," he said, almost snapping. "There's no way the auctioneer will give me my money back, and I am _so_ not into games like this." Odds were, playing a survival horror title of this quality would revive his B'wa Kell Rebellion PTSD.

"But...no, it's too much. I can't—"

"You charge me a pittance on rent," Grub broke in, rubbing a hand up the back of his neck and into his bright orange hair in an extended shrug. "I can afford a splurge here and there."

"Then splurge on yourself!" She insisted, thrusting the game further away.

"Vinyáya," Grub said, low and careful, putting his palm against the game to keep it from advancing further, his fingers refusing to curl about the edges to accept it's return. "Please. I just...I wanted to give you something I knew you'd like. This was all that I could think of." Pushing back, he found her arms giving way, allowing him to press the plastic case to her chest. "Call it an 'anti-shower' gift, if you want. Or ten years of not being allowed to get you a birthday gift."

Vinyáya looked down at Grub's hand, so close to her heart, indecisive. Even with her income, she'd never been able to justify the cost. It was perhaps...no, it was _easily_ the best gift she'd ever been given.

After trying half-heartedly to find another excuse, Vinyáya met Grub's eyes with a smile. "If you _insist," _she said, as if she had suffered a major defeat. "Thank you. Really." For a brief flash, she had the desire to place one of her hands over his, but held off. The notion made her heart skip, and she berated herself.

After Grub brought his hand away and took a few seconds to watch her and enjoy the glow he had inspired, he laughed. He'd tried to avoid that, not wanting to break the mood, but his nerves had risen until it was uncontainable. "Well," he said, trying to gloss over his momentary hilarity. "Are you going to sit there all moon-eyed all night, or are you going to play?"

"I am not 'moon-eyed'," she protested, but her attention was already transferred to the game.

Grub could almost imagine her salivating.

Not sure how well his stomach would handle the coming gore—and there was no way he was going elsewhere to eat and miss out on her every reaction to his gift—he sat and began to shovel down dinner, only pausing to blow over the scalding dish as a spark flashed across his incautious tongue

He proved himself wise when the game disc whirred to life and the television flashed a single image for just a split-second: a creature that had once been a gnome, but whose skin had turned white, but for livid black lines wherever blood vessels were near the surface, the trace-work full of dried blood. It's face was nearly untouched, except for the upper lip, which was almost torn away, hanging from a thin bit of meat. A blade had opened the creature's chest, and the dried-up, black heart was exposed, maggots writhing at the corner of the wound.

Grub looked down at his bowl, mouth full. By an exercise of supreme will, he swallowed, keeping down his stomach's intense roiling, and put the bowl on the coffee table, folding his hands in his lap.

Coming back from the consoles, Vinyáya tossed something in the air before taking the middle cushion.

Grub had a moment to mentally squeal with joy. On the couch. _Together_. And on adjoining cushions! He could die a happy man, if things continued in this vein.

The moment passed. The thing she had tossed came down on his lap, and Grub knew that, yes, he _would_ in fact die tonight. But he would not be happy.

"Um...yours," he said, holding the black plastic controller out to the wing commander.

"Hmmm?" she said, turning to look at him, fork in mouth. After a pause, she slid it back out, unintentionally making Grub's mind turn to jelly. "Nuh uh," she said around a mouthful of food, swallowing the first sumptuous bite. "Co-op mode. You're my backup."

"Ummm...no," Grub said, slow-to-fast, thrusting the controller farther away. "I don't do backup. Except in the 'retreating' sense."

"Oh, really? I'm surprised," Vinyáya said, tapping her lips with the fork, looking towards the ceiling. "Based on my experience, I thought Kelps never _pull out_." She smiled at the captain, the silver's pressure on her lips making the curves extra-twisty.

With an instant squeak, Grub took the controller back, putting it and as much of his hands as he could make look natural over his lap. He could do nothing about the red rising on his cheeks (symptoms of another increase in blood flow), except turn his head so it faced the television, instead of the chuckling demoness beside him."I-I just warn you, if I scream like a girl and piss myself, you're the one that has to clean it up!"

"Deal!" She chirruped, accepting the two-player settings.

As the bright intro screen faded to black and shuffling began to emit from the hidden speakers all around the room, Grub whimpered, drawing his legs up to the couch, wrapping his arms around them to make his body as small as possible. There was no doubting. She hated him.

* * *

Trouble didn't like the look of Lucas's Tavern tonight. It wasn't a dangerous crowd. Almost all LEP, actually. That was the problem. Everyone had jumped at the excuse of carousing with surface officer Chix Verbil before his leave ended and it was time for another lengthy stint at E1. This meant he had...an audience. An audience comprised almost entirely of his coworkers.

Lili had met the few jeers about recent tabloid sensations with laughs and suggestions of self-copulation, and Trouble had just flung back a stony silence. It only took a few minutes for everyone to settle down, leaving them in relative peace. Relative because the Friday-night conversion from semi-raucous happy hour bar to anarchic music-based clothed orgy was complete, the thumping beats so loud that they went into Trouble's very bones, forcing his heart to beat in rhythm.

With a crowd this large, it was hard to get a waitress to attend to you properly, and most of them were stuck behind the bar, fetching bottles of beer and wine or setting up glasses for the more skilled bartenders to mix. Lili—smaller and firmly female, to help catch the male bartender's attention—had gone off to wade through the over-capacity dance floor and pick up the first round, leaving Trouble to finalize his plan.

It was a simple plan, and he was depending on the adage about simplicity being beauty to make it an effective one. She would soon return, and he would rise to help her put down the drinks. Then he would wrap his arms about Lili's waist, pull her to him, and kiss her. Lip-to-lip, and as long as she would allow. Just a kiss, no wandering hands, and, when they finally broke off, he would say that he wanted a chance. That they liked spending time together as friends, and he had known for years that they would be great as a couple. If she laughed, he would insist. If necessary, he'd drag her out to the dance floor—she never could resist his lead—and regain her lips until she agreed.

And gods, gods, _gods_, let her agree. He didn't know what would happen if she kept laughing it off or outright tuned him down. Just...a _chance_. One night of taking his flirting seriously. That was all he asked.

"Trouble!" An angel's voice called from the crowd.

Obediently, he turned, heart hammering as that perfect face and amazing strawberry-blond hair appeared through the tightly packed fairies, arms stretched ahead to part the way, brimming shots held before her.

His knees went weak, mind fuzzy, eyes fixating on her face. On the lips, formed into a perfect smile. They were a hypnotizing shade of pink, lip gloss applied to make them just a tinge darker and so much wetter than her natural edible skin, and shining with tiny bits of glitter.

Screw putting the drinks down first, Trouble decided. He could afford plenty more, if she dropped them in shock. He had to do it. Do it now. He'd waited too long and _yes, _tonight was the night, perfection, those lips, _now—_

"Here," Lili said, extending the shot to Trouble, who ignored it, frowning at the delay in his plans as she took hers in one gulp. She shook her head, letting out a loud "woo!" as the alcohol hit her system. Looking up, eyes shiny, she tapped the side of Trouble's shot, trying to prompt him. "On me. To apologize."

The word and her tone—almost weak, and very tentative—yanked Trouble from his contemplation of her lips, though he did not follow orders and drink. "For?"

"Abandoning you," Lili whined, taking Trouble' s wrist and forcing the drink inside his hand, placing her empty glass on the table behind him, her chest brushing against Trouble's as she leaned.

With her body touching his, Trouble couldn't stop his first reaction. He wrapped an arm about her tiny waist, bringing the woman closer until their hips met, looking down at her wide, startled eyes. Her lips parted in a tiny gasp at his unanticipated movement. So perfect, waiting...kissable...lickable lips. Just...a few...inches...

"Oh, come on, it's just one Friday night," Lili protested, pushing against Trouble's chest, breaking his grip. "We can go out tomorrow," Taking a large step back and out of his range, she put a hand to her breast, over her Book. "Whatever you want. I promise."

Trouble wanted to jump forward and capture her again, but his synapses seemed to have been replaced with year-old glue. He lifted a hand to reach out. "But...what...?"

Jerking her head to indicate the front doors, Lili took another step. "Chix and I are gonna split."

"Chix?" Trouble repeated, images of the sprite flitting through his head. "But...why?" Realization hit him, and he blurted out, "You said he was a terrible date!" He was fairly certain he recalled her exact words: _A more massive tragedy than if the Titanic and the Hindenburg had a bastard love child._

"Well, true, yeah," Lili laughed, nose scrunching at the horrific memory. "We didn't plan on going _out, _though." She winked.

Trouble's growl was lost in the crowd's whooping and the music, though it vibrated strongly in his throat, making his ears buzz and his mind lose focus. "Lili, _don't_. I just...you—"

"Oh, come on!" Lili pouted, swaying her shoulders and biting her lower lip, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. "Don't be like that. Please?" She lost the innocent affection as her mouth curved into a feline smile. "Not when I got the new waitress to agree to bring your drinks, tonight." She shot a finger-gun at Trouble, giggling at his flabbergasted expression. "And _she..._has head _allllll_ about..." The gun was re-aimed, firing at the male's own "arsenal," accompanied by a perfect impression of a rifle. "Hehe.._.you."_

Trouble swallowed, weakly shaking his head, but Lili don't seem to notice. With another wink and a blown kiss, she stepped away. "Don't do anything I wouldn't," she advised, then turned, swaying hips and entire lithe body soon lost to the tight crowd. In seconds, the very last flick of her hair was gone, swallowed up by the bodies.

Trouble kept his eyes on the last spot she had been, heartbeat slowing, overcoming the pound of bass. Even though it regained a natural rhythm, it seemed to Trouble that the muscle still worked overtime. It's every beat was painfully strong, forcing too much blood through his veins, the rush in his ears sounding like waves crashing against a sheer cliff.

He brought the shot glass up to his nose, sniffing it. Tequila. Good. And a double. Acceptable, for now. Waitresses around here were quick enough, if tipped will, so he'd soon be able to request she bring the entire bottle, and that would solve things. Until he sobered up again. _Chix..._

Throwing his head back, Trouble tossed the shot into his mouth, relaxing his throat so the tequila slid inside without even needing to be swallowed. It burned all the way down.

* * *

Vinyáya and Grub had gone an hour into co-op mode, and Vinyáya was just been thinking that the man was doing a lot better in both game-play and fear than she'd expected, when they encountered the first runner-zombie. She had been prepared for such an occurrence, the trope of inserting a suddenly swift enemy into a game of slow-moving monsters being very common, and it had only been one, instead of a horde. Grub, on the other hand, screamed like a little girl, threw his controller into the air, and dived over the back of the couch like a soldier ducking a grenade, where he remained through Vinyáya's entire laughing fit. Luckily, he did not whiz all over the living room, as he'd threatened, so Vinyáya allowed her mirth to continue without getting...er, pissed off.

"How in the _gods_ name did you ever pass the LEP simulations?" She queried as she decapitated what appeared to have once been a goth goblin. Using a baseball bat.

"I hadn't been in a fire-fight, yet," Grub explained, gaining just enough courage to crouch so that his eyes cleared the back of the couch, nails digging into the upholstery. "And the sims aren't nearly as convincing as this." In fact, the LEP had a program what was at least a century behind the times, which Foaly winced over every time he was asked to do a repair. Vinyáya had long-since been petitioning the Council for a full room of holograms, but no one but Duke had sided with her, though he suggested that the LEP and fire department could share a room by including flamethrowers for their training (Vinyáya had been super-excited over the potential of flamethrowers, as had Holly).

"Do you ever plan on going back in combat?" Vinyáya asked, getting to a save point (Grub's character having been torn apart, due to the lack of a controller, which she was delighted to learn made her character sob for a full five minutes) and mercifully turning off the game. She ached to continue, but he had been the one to put out so much of his of cash, so it was only fair to let him calm down before delving in again.

He snorted. "Not likely. I have no intentions of getting myself killed and leaving you alone."

She craned her head and watched him for several moments, unable to speak.

Only inches apart, their eyes became locked together. He swallowed, desperately tryng to think of something. _Anything_. "Um...hey, look, a change of subject!" Grub yelped, pointing over Vinyáya's shoulders, almost inspiring her to look. "Wanna watch a movie?"

"What?" Vinyáya responded, head whipping about to track the man as he vaulted back over the couch, sliding on his knees once he hit the floor, stopping in front of the entertainment center and opening a bottom drawer. There was a rapid clicking of cases impacting as he flipped through his collection, turning his head so he could both inspect the titles and get at least a glimpse of the woman's face as he addressed her.

"No problem with Mud Man movies, right?"

"I'm not _that_ sensitive," she retorted, tossing her controller to the ground and leaning sideways to slouch against the arm rest, curling her legs up to take over two-thirds of the couch. Grub's recently vacated seat was still warm, and she found herself closing her eyes to enjoy the comfort. It was just the extra heat on a chilly night, after all. No harm in taking advantage.

"Just checking," he responded with false casualness, pulling a case from the drawer and smiling at the two girls and various strange creatures on the front. No one could resist this movie. _No one._ Whistling the staccato-filled opening theme to himself, he placed the disc on top of the unit's omnisensor and turned back to the couch.

Finding his former space occupied, he blinked. "Er..."

"Not moving," Vinyáya snapped, though her relaxed position kept the barb out of her stinging reaction.

He frowned, crossing his arms and considering the predicament. "Well...um...fine!" Before he had a chance to think about his plan too much, Grub flopped down on the last remaining cushion, leaned sideways, and brought his own legs up to rest on the middle cushion, adjusting to make sure his heels did not touch the commander's knees as he mirrored her position.

Opening an eye and raising her head, Vinyáya inspected the arrangement. Scowling, she lifted her head further to aim slitted eyes at the captain.

His ears seemed to flick under her scrutiny, but no other part of the elf's body moved, except perhaps his Adam's apple.

After a pause that was long enough to let the copyright warnings go by (really, humans, still almost entirely depending on the honor system), she faced forward again with a "hmph," and let her arm stretch out over the rest, placing her head upon it for a makeshift pillow, hand dangling in the air. She didn't fail to notice the male's sigh of relief, which made her roll her eyes, but, again, she did not comment, allowing the bizarre opening credits to begin.

So, 30 minutes later, Vinyáya had no _clue_ what was going on in the movie, or what the big gray thing was, but she noted it had a great fondness for umbrellas.

"That thing is way too happy for comfort," she muttered.

Grub raised his head to see her over their lounging bodies and bit his lower lip. "I could put on something—"

"No, no," she interrupted, raising a hand. "It's fine. I just blame you if I develop a spontaneous cavity."

"Hey, you made me play that..._thing_," he responded, unwilling to call the bloodbath a 'game.' He would never understand the woman's love of gore, but he only hoped she wouldn't play when the child was watching. Though perhaps that Mud Man saying would come into play nicely there. What was it? _Familiarity breeds contempt_? If the child got used to such horrific images as a baby, then perhaps monsters in the closet would not be so terrifying? Of course, children had an amazing ability to make demons out of seemingly benign things. Gods knew, Grub had yet to figure out why Trouble had been afraid of teddy bears, but he'd downright refused to allow them into their shared bedroom, even into his 30s. With all likelihood, their child would be afraid of a fluffy bunny or somesuch nonsense.

"What's that smirk about?" Vinyáya said, making Grub start and lose the train of of his thoughts as he realized she had been watching him. Or at least had glanced at him at an opportune moment.

"Um...closets," he said, hoping she would give another dismissive "hmph" and leave it at that.

"Oh, dear," she crooned. "Something in them?"

Glaring at the woman, he said, "Yes," with as much dignity as he could muster, disappointed when all she did was laugh quietly. "_Monsters_," he clarified.

"What?" she returned with that same drawling, condescending tone which, while belittling, was still somehow better than the previous months of screaming and snapping. "Need someone to make sure there's no zombies hiding in yours, tonight? Maybe under your bed, too?"

"_No_," Grub returned, sniffing and holding his head high. "I fear no zombie infection."

"You shouldn't," Vinyáya assured, looking back towards the television. "If you ever get bit, I'll blow your brains out myself."

After sufficient time for contemplation had passed, Grub's jaw went a little slack, trying to decide if he should retreat.

When Vinyáya's eyes darted away from the movie and she grinned, he had his answer. "Sadist," he muttered.

"So you finally caught on," she replied with a bright smile.

His heart flipped at the look. He had to keep that smile on her face as long as possible, and if that meant taking some shots to his ego, he was all for playing masochist. "Sparring with Short every day, driving like a maniac, playing those games until all hours. It seemed pretty obvious to me that you're twisted."

Flapping her mouth and matching the gesture with her hand, which mimed out "blah blah blah" while pointing at Grub, Vinyáya gave her answer and looked back at the TV so she could ignore the man.

"I mean," Grub went on, unwilling to lose her attention, "you _should_ expect a few screaming nightmares, with all that."

He knew his mistake instantly. Vinyáya's once mocking jaw went rigid, snapping closed so fast that the click it emitted sounded just a few PSI away from a crack of breaking teeth. Her eyes narrowed and did not waver from the screen. The rest of her body also went tense, legs curling in closer to her chest. Rather than a retreat, it seemed more a dangerous preparation to the male, as if she was ready to spring back and return the injury she had just been given.

"I-I'm sorry," Grub stammered, high spirits sinking down into the pits of Hell. "I mean, what do I know, you're not—"

"Stop it," the councilwoman ordered, her tone making the younger elf instinctively comply. She refused to look at him, and her jaw remained tensed, a muscle visible from Grub's side twitching every few seconds.

"I...I'm sorry," Grub whimpered, also bringing his legs up. Where just minutes ago their feet had almost twined together, now an empty, sagging cushion separated them. Barely a few hand lengths wide, yet it stretched like the Lower Element's deepest chasm. Wrapping an arm about his knees, putting himself into the fetal position, head resting on the arm rest, Grub turned back to the movie, glad that its noise filled the silence. He'd ruined everything. As usual.

Wing Commander Vinyáya had completely lost the plot, and in more ways than one. She could not follow this drug trip of a movie, and her own motives were completely lost to her. Yes, life at home had become a bit more pleasant, especially since she had tacitly agreed to let the young man stay on without a time limit. That, however, was no excuse to share chummy evenings together. It was _certainly_ not a good reason to...oh, gods, she had been, hadn't she...to _flirt_. No matter that it had been entertaining, having a partner that could take her twisted sense of humor; allowing things to carry on as they had was cruel. Someone would say something unforgivable before long—as they had—and then they would be back where they started, or even further away from civility than before.

And...well, yes, maybe she _was_ the one that had taken undue offense, this time. She was mad if she thought the nightmares would go unnoticed. He'd already tried to rush to her rescue during one, and she could only imagine that he'd been about to on other occasions. She suffered through at least one a night (the obstetrician had confirmed, during a private chat that nightmares were a common occurrence during pregnancy), and they just appeared to be getting worse. She didn't mind them so much, after the fact, but they had begun to drag on her energy, making days at the Plaza difficult, unless she napped at least once. And, last week, she'd even had a nightmare during her nap, though Cirrus hadn't made any mention of her crying out in her sleep. Thank the gods for small blessings; doubtless it would have given him a minor heart attack, and she needed to keep that secretary in top condition for at least another 300 years.

Lost in these thoughts, she completely missed the climax of the movie, only brought back to reality when the credits had passed and a loud burst of snow flashed across the screen, stinging her eyes. The DVD menu appeared a moment later, going into a short loop, with the omnisensor intelligent enough to fix the gap in repetitions, letting the music continue without annoying pauses. She watched it for a while, contemplating. Then, with a sigh, she allowed her guilt to get the better of her.

"Yes," she muttered, "I've been having nightmares, okay?" Turning her head, she focused on the other couch occupant. "But I can...deal..."

At the sound of her voice, devoid of its more dangerous edges, Grub twitched and burrowed his head deeper into the arm rest. When she didn't continue talking, he frowned, brows furrowing, but did not rouse. His eyes moved rapidly behind their lids, and Vinyáya wondered what sort of effect she'd just had on his dreams.

Grumbling, she turned away, crossing her arms. "I'm not repeating myself," she warned. "I made an effort."

He did not respond, except to smack his lips and cover his eyes with one limp hand.

Reaching towards the television, Vinyáya inscribed an 'X' in the air, powering off all systems. She sat in the dark, wondering if the sudden loss of sound and light would alert the man (it certainly would have set her off, and likely directly into battle-mode), but he remained unconscious.

Sighing, slow and ponderous, thanks to her bulk, Vinyáya pushed off from the couch. Behind her, sensing the loss of another body, Grub took advantage of the empty couch, stretching his legs and muttering something about forgetting the lemon juice.

"It figures your nightmares are about cooking," Vinyáya said, though she knew he wouldn't respond. She studied him a moment, and then smirked, taking a step towards his head, leaning over. A few strands of long silver hair fell from behind her ears, brushing across the young elf's face, making him moan, the familiar sound catching Vinyáya's breath. She closed her eyes, schooling her biorhythms before leaning down to bring her hastily constructed plan to fruition.

"No," she breathed, as close to his ear as she dared. "That's chili powder, not lemon juice."

"Nuh!" He shook his head, the motion so violent that the wing commander was sure he would wake himself up. Instead, he wrapped his arms about his chest and pushed harder against into back of the couch. His hands held tight to his upper arms, and, around the fingers, little bumps began to appear on his skin.

For a moment, Vinyáya was sure the thought of a culinary disaster had made the man break into hives. Then she shivered, and the chill of the night finally registered. The flares must have been dormant, making the cavern chillier than normal. This would inevitably be followed by an up-swell in magma, creating a heat wave, but that would be taken care of, for the most part, by Haven's cooling systems. Heating was left to the individual, as it was rare for the "weather" to get so extreme that more than a jacket or extra blanket was needed.

Straightening up, Vinyáya tutted. "You better get to bed," she said, more to herself than to the man. Reaching out with a foot, she thumped the base of the couch, trying to rouse the occupant.

Grub remained largely unresponsive, except for turning his face until his eyes were completely hidden in the curve between arm rest and couch back.

"Oh, in the name of...you're going to freeze," Vinyáya said, none too quietly, hands on her hips, but to no avail. Turning her back on the man, she stormed from the room, ready to leave him to his fate.

She was almost at her bedroom door when the niggling voice of guilt rose to a scream in her tender ears. It wasn't her fault. She didn't need to feel guilty. It was _his_ damned fault for being a dead weight, at the moment. She wasn't obliged to...

"Oh, d'arvit," she cursed, turning back and yanking the laundry room door open.

She immediately found what she sought, shoving it under her arm as she stomped back down the hall and into the living room. Even the booming steps of a highly pregnant woman failed to wake the captain. She stood at the end of the couch farthest from Grub's head and watched him, wishing he would spontaneously wake himself before she was forced to act.

"_Ass,_" she finally hissed, taking the bottom edges of the blanket in either hand and snapping it out so it opened in the air above the Kelp, drifting down haphazardly, failing to cover his feet, while also smothering his face. Before he was startled awake, she turned heel and rushed from the room, down the hall and into her bedroom in seconds, closing and locking the door behind her.

She needn't have worried. It was five minutes before Grub stirred at all, and it was only to bring his legs up enough to pinch the covers between his knees, pulling them down so his face was free and his feet could be insulated. Then he sighed, smiled, and went even deeper into slumber

* * *

Trouble awoke to the sound of his alarm clock, and it triggered the most horrific hangover he had ever experienced. In the past, whenever he'd poisoned his body, the entire next day was free for suffering in relative peace; he was not always wise in consumption, but he had impeccable timing. This time, however, as he reached over and slammed the off button, he glanced at the mini-calendar on his bedside table to identify the reason he had been disturbed

_Brunch, 11, Shaunassey's._

He groaned, remembering. Brunch with the family. More importantly, brunch with _Mother_. At least, given the matriarch's love of chatter, he wouldn't be seen as anti-social if he wasn't in the mood to talk. Still, he should probably brush the booze grime off his tongue. Hibiscus wasn't a teetotaler, but she would show no sympathy to a hung-over son. With any luck, he might have the pesto, garlic, orange juice, carrot baby food, and salmon roe in stock to make his hangover remedy (and maybe even the festive cocktail umbrella, so things didn't seem so grim).

He sat up in bed.

There was a dreamy sigh.

It...had not been his own. Slowly, Trouble turned his head to look at the body lying beside him.

"Ah," he said, quietly enough to keep from waking her. "...shit."

The sprite looked very young, so Trouble trusted that the bar maid uniform crumpled near the door was proof of his innocence in regards to seducing underage women. She was terribly petite, and had all of the blankets wrapped about her body, to help stave off the morning cold. Only her wings were out of the covers, and these were painted—in the new fashion of female sprites—in the pattern of a Malachite butterfly. They fluttered once as she nuzzled deeper into her pillow, a thoroughly-satisfied smile still plastered on her face.

Trouble tried very, very hard to remember that body, but even he, with an impressive alcohol tolerance, would have a blackout after...gods, how many shots of tequila did he have the night before? Math was needed. How many shots in a bottle, how many bottles that night, and...dear gods, why was he recalling...licking..._salt_ off someone's _thighs_?

Blue eyes. Please, soulful blue eyes and shining hair and a nose that scrunched up whenever you really made her laugh, her voice like the tinkling of pure-silver, master-crafted bells. He had to remember that. Somewhere. Somehow, let them have come back. Let this be all one huge misunderstanding.

The sprite's wings opened and closed in a long sweep as she went deeper into dreams about clear, unending skies.

Moving carefully to keep from jarring the woman awake, Trouble slid out of bed and walked nude to the kitchen sink.

Where he proceeded to quietly and courteously throw up for the next ten minutes.

* * *

Vinyáya's couch had a lot of perks over Trouble's, but Grub's back still ached when he woke up, lifting his head from it's misaligned position on the arm rest. He was about to let out a wail over this horrible sleeping arrangement when he noticed how very..._warm_ he was.

Opening an eye, he inspected his situation. The blanket looked very plain, made of thick blue and white yarn, and it was very scratchy. However, it was _warm_. It cocooned him in a delicious glow he associated with childhood holidays and hot cocoa with marshmallows. He ignored the slight irritation on his skin, it being overruled by other comforts.

For one petulant moment, Grub recalled that he'd just washed this blanket, and he could have just saved himself the trouble of having to do so again by taking the covers from his bedroom.

Then it hit him.

Slowly, he began to smile, tugging the blankets tighter about his body. He was definitely claiming this, now. For ever and ever.

* * *

It was a wonder that Grub didn't arrive at Shaunassey's covered in blue and white. He did retain some sanity, however, and came in black jeans, his battered Recon boots, and a green turtleneck, instead of bedding. The warmth had made it difficult to get going, so he arrived ten minutes late, finding that his mother and brother were already seated. The woman was chattering nonstop, with Trouble nodding at regular intervals. It was only the sight of her youngest that redirected (not stopped) her words, becoming a welcome.

"Grub, dear, so good of you to _join_ us," she emphasized, rising to exchange air kisses.

Moving quickly out of the woman's reach once the ritual was done, Grub took his seat, leaning backwards over the white-painted iron chair until his spine cracked. "Sorry, Mom. We were up late last night."

"We?" Hibiscus seemed to completely forget her son's tardiness, hovering over the table to get closer to potential revelations. "Vinyáya and yourself, I'm assuming. Discussing things? The future?"

"Er...no," Grub said, picking up and flicking open a menu. The digital display flashed garishly, trying to distract him from the cheap healthy items by showing off delicious, steaming, calorie-filled wallet-busters. "Eviscerating the undead, actually." At his mother's triple-blink, he added, "Video game."

Hibiscus looked off to the side for a second, tapping her lips with two fingers, mulling this over before she finally turned back. "I...could actually imagine that being her idea of a courtship activity."

Not commenting (the idea having long ago crossed Grub's mind, making him giddy all through shower time), he settled deep into his chair and lifted the menu to hide his face. He angled it slightly, until he could see Trouble out of the corner of his eye. Then he clicked his tongue.

When Trouble's eyes—rather puffy and bloodshot—flicked up at the sound, Grub smirked and mouthed a few words. "How'd Lili sleep?"

_**GLARE.**_

The captain jolted back, as if struck, lowering the menu to protect his heart and lungs. This gave Hibiscus a good look at his terror-stricken face, and she asked him what the matter was, almost as shrill in question as Grub was in his deflecting answer.

They ordered and small-talk commenced, with Grub describing his new office and duties, sounding very excited about his window overlooking the Boulevard of Kings. When the conversation switched focus, Trouble gave short answers and endured his mother's lecture on temperance and crapulence. Grub choked on his tea at the latter word, and could not be convinced that it was anything but the slang it sounded like.

He tried to amuse himself with the new vocabulary for the rest of the meal, but a cloud hovered over all. While he had a maternal bond with and a genuine love of his mother, Grub had no illusions about her overall character. Hibiscus was not a simple brunch-enjoying woman, out to catch up with her grown sons. She always had an ulterior motive. This was, at best, a business meeting. At worst, a war council.

He knew whom she was at war with when Hibiscus put down her fork on the empty plate, tapped her lips with a napkin, and said, in an off-hand fashion, "So, tell me, what plans have you and the councilwoman made?"

Trouble eased instantly. Then felt a bit guilty. Survivor's guilt.

"Um..." Grub panicked and his mouth went completely independent of his brain. "We'll be taking a tour of the delivery room a week from Saturday. The final doctor's visit is about a week later." His private plans could remain private, so long as she didn't sniff them out like a bloodhound.

She didn't, based on her long sigh and tutting. "Grub, I wasn't going to say anything while you were with Miss Frond—" She switched demeanor instantly, pouting and reaching across the small table to lay her fingertips on his wrist. "Why _did _you break it off with her? Was it Trouble? I know he has a reputation, but I didn't think he's steal—"

"He _didn't_, Mother," Grub cut in, watching his brother from the corner of his eyes. He hoped they would not have to pay for the silverware set he was pretzling. "It just wasn't going to work out, that's all."

"Oh..." She patted his wrist, and that did serve as a small sort of comfort. Then she began to speak again, negating the effects. "Well, as I was saying, I wasn't going to force you and her apart, but I really didn't agree with what you were doing."

Grub scowled, and he could see Trouble doing the same from the corner of his eye. Didn't _agree?_ She'd all but salivated when she realized that her son was dating the Frond heiress!

"I really thought your father would have taught you better, but..." Her words trailed off into silence as she felt the confused stares of her sons replaced by deadly, narrowed eyes. The woman began to tug on her napkin, looking away. Whatever she had planned to say, it had become stuck in her mind.

"What," Grub prompted, resisting the urge to copy his brother and make an Impressionist sculpture out of the utensils, "are you saying, Mother?"

"I just..." Even though she had not taken a bite, Hibiscus raised the napkin to dab at her lips. Twisting it around her forefinger, she gathered the courage to look up. "I just...isn't it time you did the right thing, Grub?"

"What in the world are you talking about? We're doing everything we can." Holding up his hand, Grub counted off their efforts. "Regular doctor's visits, good diet, the nursery is finished. Hell, I think Vinyáya's even started a _college fund_." His ears had been itching like mad all meal, and, as their irritation intensified, Grub finally reached up to scratch them. Itching ears...oh, d'arvit.

Shaking her head slowly, tutting, Hibiscus picked up her purse from the ground. "I don't mean all that, Grubby, dear." She began to search in her purse, smiling as she found her precious treasure. "The _right_ thing. What's best for the _child_."

Reaching across the table, Hibiscus lay the black velvet box on Grub's empty place setting, opening it for his inspection.

Grub slowly lowered his hand from his ear. His chest was tight. He couldn't breath.

The light from the ring's central diamond flashed directly into the youngest Kelp's eyes, almost blinding him. Smaller twinkles came from the trios of blue gems on either side of the main setting, each decreasing in size until the last was no larger than a strawberry seed, but—thanks to the skills of the dwarven jewel-smiths—just as radiant as it's brethren.

"This is the ring your father used to propose," Hibiscus explained unnecessarily. Trouble had seen this ring every day of his early childhood, and Grub had also enjoyed a few years with it proudly displayed on his mother's finger, before it and the matching white-gold band were removed and locked away.

Blushing like a girl at her memories, Hibiscus tapped the side of the settings with one long fingernail, moving the ring so it caught light in different angles. "I always thought something like this should be kept in a family. Maybe a little resizing, but otherwise it would suit the Councilwoman perfectly." Catching her son's expression, which had failed to progress beyond bafflement, she laughed. "Well, dear? I mean, unless you already bought a ring and didn't tell me...?"

"Mother," Trouble softly said, keeping his eyes on Grub. "It's not that sim—"

"_No!_"

Grub rushed to his feet, staggering back and knocking over his heavy metal chair, the clamor as it fell to the concrete making several nearby fairies wince and scowl. He continued moving away, long legs tangling in the metal frame, nearly toppling him. He held out a hand to steady himself, like a tightrope walker about to dramatically and tragically end his career. A nearby diner rose with hands extended to steady the man, but Grub didn't notice.

His eyes never left the ring. Even when he slowly shook his head, his eyes moved in tandem in their sockets, the line of sight never faltering.

"Honey," Hibiscus soothed, standing to go to her youngest. "What's wrong?"

Grub held out a hand to stay the woman at a distance. He began to search in his pockets, visual focus still maintained. "D'arvit...Trouble, I was going to pay by card. Please, I'll give you the coin on Monday."

"Yeah, go ahead," Trouble agreed, reaching for his own wallet.

"Wait! What are you...Grub!" Picking up the ring, Hibiscus thrust it at the man, who fell back again. "The child is almost here! You have to—"

"_NO!_" Grub screamed again, finally tearing his gaze from the gems to blaze at his mother. "I don't...I don't have to do..._that!_"

"Grub," Hibiscus persisted, "marrying her and raising the child is the right thing to do!"

"We _are_ raising the baby!"

"Then take the ring—"

"_I WILL NOT MARRY HER!_"

Trouble shot to his feet, wrapping both arms about Hibiscus's waist and pulling her back, suddenly certain that his newly combat-proficient sibling was going to strike their mother. Based on her sudden wild jerk and cry at his touch, even she assumed this, momentarily thinking the touch from behind was an attack from the front.

But Grub just whirled, nearly yanking the cafe's metal gate off its hinges as he opened it, slamming the iron behind so hard that several of the decorative terra cotta planters came loose of their wire frames, shattering on the stone floor, sending out sprays of soil and blooming marigolds. Within seconds, his long legs had taken him down the street and around the nearest corner, leaving the cafe abuzz with confused fairies.

"Wh...what...in the _world_..." Hibiscus unsteadily took on her own weight, turning to her remaining son, mouth open in shock. "What was that about?"

"Mother?" Trouble said, looking about at the other diners, who still watched them with horrified interest.

"Yes? What? What is it?"

Leaning in, which inspired Hibiscus to do the same so their words could be private, Trouble replied. "Don't...even _act_ like you don't _know_," he growled.

While the woman stood frozen, Trouble left the table, looking for their waiter so he could pay his portion of the bill and get out of there, before his mother decided to give any more advice.

* * *

**Preview: "Imagine a world without me./ Say you're falling apart./ Let's pretend you've missed me for a while./ Wouldn't you say you were lonely,/ And love was breaking your heart?/ Put on your Sunday best and fake a smile."**

* * *

**You know what I find to be the most absolutely funny part of this chapter? The cat is speaking French.**

**Grub's "Hey, look, a change of subject" is entirely the result of me not knowing what to do for a transition to movies. I hope this is the only time I will utilize this.**

**Bonus points to whoever can identify the movie!**

**Trouble licking salt off someone's inner thighs while doing tequila shots: new favorite image of hotness.**


	42. Strangers Together

**Hey, everyone! It's December! Don't forget my competition! The prompt can now be found on my profile. Come ooooooon!**

* * *

**Song: "Fact-Fiction" by Mads Langer**

* * *

**Chapter 42: Strangers Together**

**Week 36**

Trouble did not join Lili at her mansion following the disastrous Saturday brunch. He hadn't even figured out how to confront her about his botched ovations when his phone beeped with the song specially assigned to the princess. Her message, though garbled by text-speak, was simple: she was going to stay at the mansion all through the weekend, and she'd see him next on Monday morning.

It ended in a winking emoticon.

Trouble threw his phone at his bedroom wall, cracking the screen and snapping the back, leaving the two flipping portions to hang by abused wires.

As he took his hardest liquors down from the cabinets, Trouble sent a little prayer of thanks to Bacchus and Cupid (time-sharing gods of one-night stands) that his female companion had left while he was out to brunch. The sight of her celadon skin might have made him think of a darker tint moving over soft, yielding, sweat-dampened café au lait, and he had no idea what that thought would have made him do.

No further words came from Lili on Sunday, and on Monday morning the first news he got about the woman came from the worst source possible.

"A _wildcat_, man!" Chix lambasted, his all-male audience howling approval. "Hours and _hours_! I swear, I thought she was going to rip it off!"

Clutching a cheap and strong cup of coffee closer to his chest, Trouble tried to keep going straight forward and across the bright white tiling of the Plaza entryway, ignoring the dramatization. The acidity of his brew began to rise up, making his stomach roil and throat burn. He'd been responsible enough to come to work sober—if still hung over—and was regretting the decision. He began to understand why Root indulged in cigars while on duty.

Chix mimed some sort of violent arial sex act, to delight of all arrayed. The falsetto voice he used to imitate Lili's cries was undoubtedly a poor impression, and Trouble really doubted she screamed "fuck me royally" when her ears were bit, as Chix claimed. The falsehoods inadvertently saved the sprite from immediate attack, as Trouble found himself unable to imagine the two together with such incorrect input, thus keeping his booze-addled brain from turning to a fiery rage.

Chix—who normally had his wings held close to his back in a submissive position, but now extending them to their fullest, like a virile peacock—hold up his hands, as if to defend himself. "She begged me to give up E1, but, ya know..." He sighed, clutching his weakened heart. "Stewardesses." During the ensuing roars, he held his fists out for bumping, nodding enthusiastically at whatever was said to him.

Major Vein—his wings a bit more subdued—caught sight of his commander and brought two fingers to his mouth, his shrill whistle inspiring a prolonged throb in Trouble's head, nearly making him gag. "Yo, Commander! Get over here. You are not gonna _believe_ this bullshit."

Finally getting through the mash of bodies about the automatic doors, Trouble shook his head, holding up a data tablet and coffee cup to illustrate his devotion to the job. He had to keep his feet moving. It would only take a few seconds to walk by and out of hearing range. Then he wouldn't see Chix until his next leave, nearly two months away, and perhaps he would have worked through the barely contained murderous rage. Of figured out the best way to hide a body.

Probably stuff it down an abandoned magma chute. The Earth's molten core would take care of the disposal for him.

Chix seemed to be wrapping things up with his audience, receiving many slaps to the back and congratulations that were also curses. Vein, eyes traversing between commander and lieutenant, punched Chix's shoulder and went for one last question. "You gonna see her when you come back, at least?"

"Ho-ho-hoooo-yeah!" Chix confirmed, exchanging his last fist bump. "Fox like that? I've said it once, and I will say it again." Turning from the crowd, Chix began to stride towards the Plaza doors and the nearby magma chute that would take take him back to E1. Coming face-to-face with Trouble, he jolted, surprised, and eventually grinned lewdly and waved as they prepared to pass. "I like my women like I like my coffee..."

With a sprite's precise reflexes—made for flitting between trees, and far swifter than any elf's—Chix snatched the steaming cup from Trouble's hand.

At first, Commander Kelp kept walking, staring at his now-vacant, but still-warm hand. It remained curved as he finally looked up and turned, spurred by the guffaws among Chix's quicker audience members.

With the crowd already absorbing him, Chix took a sip and stamped his foot, moaning in appreciation. Raising the cup's brim to his forehead, he saluted. "Thanks, Commander. _My_ treat, next time, eh?"

The sprite was long gone by the time Trouble came up with a comeback. He gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to run after his sudden rival and scream the words so loud they'd be unintelligible, possibly ruining his vocal chords. Instead he reached into a pocket and pulled out his (new) phone, hitting speed dial. He didn't even wait for a greeting from the other end before barking, "FOWL!"

"...Yes?" Artemis breezed, accompanying his verbal dismissal with a creak as he leaned far back in his chair. "You require my services, Commander?"

Trouble winced. "Can you maybe try to sound a bit less creepy?"

"No. What do you want?"

"You know those out-of-date sensors in the Arctic that Foaly has been waiting to replace?"

"Yes?"

"I'll be sending you the team roster in ten."

"You know...I might be a bad influence on the People, now that I think about it..."

* * *

Despite her disdain for the entire process of gestation, Vinyáya did support being prepared for all complications. Thus, she hadn't protested (too much) when Grub suggested a tour of the Haven Hospital maternity ward. Of course, she was less interested in patient-staff relations and amenities, and more focused on dark corridors and unsecured air vents. The People were not lacking in political dissidents, though it had been ages since Vinyáya faced any serious threat (or what she, as head of Section 8 and the closest thing the People had to a ninja, considered to be serious). It was best to avoid vulnerable positions, especially when one was in great distress, as in childbirth.

This was the reason for Holly's presence at the drop-off loop in front of the emergency room. She was easily Vinyáya's closest battle-ready friend, and had jumped at the idea of being her secret bodyguard during the birth. Partially because of the quite respectable paycheck given for guarding both a council member and a commander in the LEP, but, in all honesty, mostly because she'd be in direct proximity to newborns.

Artemis Fowl was very, very irritated with the Wing Commander.

And Vinyáya was very, _very_ irritated when she saw the other elf waiting for them.

"Itwasn'tmyideadon'tkillme!" Grub exploded the instant he stepped from their taxi.

"Oh, I won't _kill_ you," she grunted. Despite her best judgment, she began to walk towards their companions.

"R-really?" The captain smiled tentatively.

"Of course not." Vinyáya waved at Hibiscus Brenner, who paused her talk with Holly (who looked faintly shell-shocked) and waved back energetically.

Grub melted with relief.

"I mean," she laughed, "that would be _humane._"

"Mother!" Grub cried out, jogging up. "What a surprise! What are you doing here?"

Clasping forearms, the elves bumped cheeks, with Grub instantly letting go and stepping back, considering her to be the lesser of two evils, but still on the nefarious side. Holly, it seemed, agreed, and went to stand by the commander, looking across at her former conversational companion, glad to be freed from being sole entertainer.

Too caught up with their prospective activities, Hibiscus failed to note the arrangement, and instead began to chatter. "I'm here for the tour, of course!" She flushed with excitement, shifting focus from her son to his erstwhile mate. "This is where the boys were born, you know. I wonder if we can see the rooms I was in?" She clasped hands before her breast, all but squealing in joy.

"Gods," Vinyáya returned, "I hope no-aaaah!"

Holly stealthily removed her index finger from one of the commander's pressure points, earning a glare. To which she smiled quite cheerily, showing all her teeth.

"I...really wasn't expecting you," Grub said, eyes darting towards the two deadly assassins to his left. "Hah! What a surprise!"

"Well, when you mentioned this over brunch, I just knew I couldn't miss it!" Lips pursed, Hibiscus chided her son. "It's a good thing the front office could tell me the time of your tour. You left the cafe so quickly, you forgot to tell me."

"Oh," Grub managed to get out through clenched teeth, turning his head sideways to give Vinyáya a skeletal smile. "G...glad you figured it out."

The wing commander's eyes remained hard, but her fingers flicked to the side. Message received. For now, he would live. For now. "I'm afraid I'm quite busy, with leave starting soon. We should get going."

"Right!" Grub yipped, taking point. It was probably the only time today he would have any sort of lead or control, so he stepped solidly, head high to show off his stature. A few fairies sent him surprised glances, and he nodded back as he and his all-female entourage went through the sliding glass doors and into the brightly-lit, if not completely sterile welcome area and straight up to the steel check-in desk.

Behind it, in a chair that looked about as comfortable as the desk itself, sat a sour-faced pixie. She focused down on her computer screen with nary a flicker of the ear. After quite some tapping—amplified by long, gold-tipped fake nails—the receptionist looked up and drifted her eyes between the fairies, stopping for several seconds on each before resting on Grub. "You're the tour?"

Grub supposed the lack of blood or scrambling for an obstetrician gave them away, though perhaps the massively pregnant woman could have convinced the attendant otherwise. "Erm...yes." He tried to stand taller. He had to seem in control for however long he was allowed it.

Again, the receptionist completed the slow pass of focus, taking twice as long. "...There's four of you."

"Oh, congratulations," Vinyáya purred. "You can co—aah!" Vinyáya snapped her head to Holly, seething and rubbing the vicinity of her left kidney. "Will you stop that? What kind of psycho are you, poking a pregnant woman?"

"The kind of psycho you trained me to be, sir." Holly's stony gaze remained unbreakably forward, and she almost managed to avoid looking amused.

"Unexpected additions," Grub was answering, not catching the interchange, though his mother looked somewhat alarmed. "Will that be a problem?"

The woman's gaze remained on Grub, but he got the very distinct impression that she had taken a mental journey to some haven within her mind. He almost expected her eyes to turn into black lenses, as if a television had been turned off, or for her response to his next question to be an error message.

"I...guess we could—"

"Ah, Mr. Kelp!"

Snapped from a mutual processor freeze, Grub looked up to see a gnome woman approaching. Her ample rear—impressive even for her species, yet slipping with remarkable ease through the bustling halls—gave her a decidedly matronly air, while her white nurse's smock conveyed authority. Her earthy brown hair was held down by a net, but was in the process of a prison break the likes of which hadn't been seen since the Diggums days.

"Nurse Eda?" Grub ventured, offering a hand to the woman.

Her nails—long and thick, to help manage plants, but just as well-suited to medical equipment—scratched along the man's wrists as they shook, sending little jolts up Grub's arm, resulting in an odd itching sensation just below his ears. "And you must be the father," she returned, giving his hand a final pat before letting go and turning to Vinyáya. "And you are undoubtedly the Councilwoman," she added, with a deferential nod.

Gratified she was not dubbed "Mommy," Vinyáya returned the gesture and introduced her subordinate simply as a friend, having already undertaken a private phone conversation with the gnome in regards to her security detail. When Hibiscus jumped forward and identified herself by name, the nurse immediately tensed.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but the press isn't allowed into our ward," she said firmly, betraying herself as the very sort of person who would love to read Brenner's take on the situation.

"Oh, I'm not here for..." Seeing that her words were not even making it through the woman's defenses, Hibiscus turned to her son. "Tell her," she pushed.

It was with the greatest reluctance that Grub admitted their relationship, giving Vinyáya an apologetic look as the nurse explained privacy policies to the writer, who did her best to appear innocent and offended, and not as if she would salivate for such a scoop on any other Haven celebrity.

That done, Nurse Eda looked about her slightly amplified group and nodded. "Well. If we're all ready, let's start the tour from the top, shall we?" At the guest's agreement, she clapped her hands once, as if she had begun the film rolling at a movie shoot, and began to gesture about the check-in area, covering such things as designating drivers to get the laboring woman to the hospital and the availability of wheelchairs near the entrance.

Vinyáya glared at the seats when they were pointed out. "That really won't be necessary."

"Mmm. Get up and walk when you're mid-contraction in someone's back seat, and I'll believe you."

Vinyáya's desire to snap back wittily or cattily was circumvented by the nurse's unending prattle.

"Make sure to have a bag packed before-hand with at least a copy of your ID, so we can do check-in before labor pains get too intense. Not that we doubt your identity, Wing Commander, but procedures are procedures. The receptionist will help with that."

Responding to her title, the pixie—never once looking away from her computer screen—picked up a tablet and held it randomly in the air, intoning, "Sign the areas in red, please"

By reflex, Grub almost took the tablet, but Nurse Eda put a gentling hand on the attendant's wrist, forcing it down. "No, no, Adeline," she soothed. "It's just a tour."

Eventually, the pixie seemed to understand and turned to gaze blankly at her screen, like a soldier that had just been through battle.

"Hold in there," the nurse comforted. "Just thirty more minutes in your shift." Directing her next words at the crowd of elves, she swept a hand down a nearby hall. "Well...if you'll follow me, please..."

All four of the tour group kept their eyes trained on the receptionist as they walked away, watching as her head slowly lowered to rest on the keyboard, remaining there until the computer beeped harshly, making her start up again, eyes at their widest as she looked about the check-in area for the offender.

"I'm do apologize," Eda whispered, mindful of the doors they were passing and the patients beyond. "All hospitals have been short-staffed since the arrival of the demons. We put people on the front desk when they're near the end of their shifts, so we can keep the fresh ones in the wards."

"Some of the newest demon warlocks will be able to do magic transfers, soon," Holly volunteered.

"And thank the gods for that," Eda replied, tapping at a screen embedded in a wall next to a door, confirming that the room beyond was empty. "They are a hardy race, but a lack of magic has made things difficult. Practically every medical professional has had to go back in for training on magic-less healing techniques, since there's not enough magic to heal every little bruise and scrape, anymore." Knocking on the door, just in case there was a discrepancy in the report she got from the computer, the gnome waited. After no response was forthcoming, she knocked a final time and entered.

Glancing about the room, Vinyáya was surprised to find how much it comforted her. She hadn't noted any significant nerves before, but her shoulders lowered a fraction as she took in the soft blue and green color scheme. It reminded her quite a lot of the hotels she had been put in for LEP conferences in Atlantis, before she had risen above Major and begun to warrant things like jacuzzis and butlers. The only large difference was the bed, which was raised quite a bit off the floor, with metal railings on the side that would have never been found in a hotel room. Also, she doubted even the most questionable of motels would have beds with a set of stirrups on the end.

All the women looked at these instruments with great distrust, learned from hard experience.

Grub, being the oblivious male that he was, instead saw an armoir in a corner and walked over. "Look!" he proclaimed, grasping the handles and pulling the doors open. "It's just like...a..."

After an extended period of silence, with their tour guide snickering softly to herself, Vinyáya walked over to the man's side, looking into the cabinet. "Oh my," she under-emphasized, setting off Grub's whimper reflex. Taking pity on him, she poked a finger to one of his temples, forcing him to the side until she was able to close the doors to the equipment cabinet, hiding the many monitors, oxygen canisters, defibrillators, and miscellaneous surgery supplies.

"Not to worry, Mr. Kelp," Nurse Eda advised. "I've looked over the records from your...Dr. Ginko, was it?" She looked between the parents, her brows quite high up on her forehead. At Vinyáya's nod of confirmation, the guide smiled slightly. "Well. He's noted no complications. I doubt we'll go in there for anything more than some gloves and towels." Letting her eyes cast up and down the commander's figure, she laughed heartily, the sound mannish. "With hips like those, you're a natural mother!"

Startled, Vinyáya looked down at her hips. She'd never considered them particularly wide, but, now that it was pointed out, Holly did look twig-like in comparison, even accounting for the major's lack of a fetus.

The nurse had kept talking during the woman's reverie, and suddenly stopped, still looking at Vinyáya, her head tilted to the side. It took a moment for the commander to realize a question had been asked, and she scrambled to recall the last words: "Who do you want in the delivery room?"

Vinyáya began to consider what was always a very short list for an elf. The females of the species were quite suspicious at birth and during the weeks after. While they were surface-dwelling creatures, Mud Men had commonly stolen infants from these human-like creatures, convinced sickly offspring were actually fairy "changelings." Sometimes, a panicky first-time mom would even kick a doctor out of the delivery room, and had to be sedated before medical personnel returned.

Letting her natural motherly paranoia kick in, ears twitching to make themselves flatter against her head, she forced out a response. "Major short will be in the ward, though she needs...free reign." No need to tell anyone without need-to-know that she would be responding to whatever concerns Foaly might bring up with his fine tune anti-espionage equipment. "Kelp," she went on, making the captain squeak and tear up. She hadn't realized he'd been worried over being at the birth of his own child, and his glee brought her a moment of shame, which was somewhat washed away as Hibiscus scowled at her for use of the patronym. "That's it, I suppose," she finished with a shrug.

Hibiscus coughed loudly.

Vinyáya glanced at her. Blinked once. And then looked forward again, serene. "Yep. That's it."

Jaw going slack, Hibiscus turned to her son. "I will be present, wont I?"

He swallowed, but came back with, "If she's only comfortable with a few people, it's her decision." Despite his solidarity, he did take the expedient step of moving away from his mother a few extra inches.

Hibiscus tried to appeal to the nurse, but got much the same response, including the note that, "She could even forbid the father, if she so wishes."

Too attuned to him by far, Vinyáya didn't even wait for his panic to mouth, "No," her drawn brows conveying the irritated tone lost in her silence.

"But...but..."

"Ma'am," the gnome interjected, laying a firm hand on the woman's shoulder, "there are women in labor in the adjacent rooms. If you can not keep your voice down, I will have to ask you to leave."

Mentally, Vinyáya added this specific woman to her birthing team. And made a note to have a nice fruit basket delivered to her the next day.

Hibiscus glowered at the uncooperative woman, but won no more ground. Turning to her son, she snapped, "We will discuss this after the tour."

Vinyáya considered how to suggest that she and Grub escape at tour-close to spend the rest of the day in the city, but couldn't identify how to do so without making it sound vaguely like she was suggesting a date.

"Shall we continue?" Nurse Eda asked, but did not bother for confirmation before she strode back into the halls, going deeper into the wards. Holly followed closely, with Hibiscus sullenly behind, leaving the unescorted Vinyáya to do something insanely stupid.

She matched pace with Grub'a, their shoulders just a few inches from brushing together, and whispered, "We can keep the lights off and pretend we aren't home."

Grub snorted. "She'll smell our_ fear_."

Ahead, Eda was still talking, wafting a hand towards a door marked "Staff Only" in thick black letters. "These are the emergency facilities. Top-of-the-line equipment, but we don't often use it, of course. Most medical associations recommend both parents maintain at least 50% magic reserves at time of birth, in case of complications. However, the mother tends to expend a lot of that on healing herself, so we recommend you maintain 75% or higher, Dad."

At the last word, Grub stopped biting his lower lip, all of his nervous tension streaking away, his only stiffness centering in a strong jaw and straight back. With words like that, the councilwoman was certain he'd be up at the last full moon before delivery, and jealously guarding his sparks thereafter.

"And turning right we seeeee..."

With two identical "thunks," Holly and Grub plastered themselves to a long floor-to-ceiling window. Holly nuzzled the glass while Grub cooed, tracing out protective runes.

"The nursery," Eda finished with a little laugh. "Gets 'em every time..."

Hibiscus seemed to have not given up on her appeals to the nurse, and she took this pause in the tour as an opportunity to speak with the woman. By the nurse's blank stare, the future grandmother's entreaties were having little effect.

It did, however, free up Vinyáya, and she used the opportunity to go to Grub's side, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked in on the sleeping infants.

Her presence had some sobering effect on the man, as he left off his arcane writing, removing his face from the glass (leaving beside a greasy face impression), though his hands remained pressed, fingers splayed, to the cool surface. His eyes lingered on each child, as if he were about to be quizzed, and would need to eliminate them from the lineup of his future son. Reverently, he said, "We're going to have one of those."

Vinyáya scanned the cradles and their occupants, then looked down at her own stomach. Frowning, she poked it, getting an automatic kick in retaliation. "I think he's still in here, Kelp."

"You know what I mean!" Grub laughed, fixing her with gleaming eyes. "It's only a month left. Crazy."

"Hate to ruin your fairytale images, but thank the _gods_ for that."

He sighed, but his expression did not darken. Instead, he admitted, "I know it's been hard on you. I've done my best to make things easier, though."

"That's a wild understatement," she teased.

Then, after a second, added, "_Dad_."

Grub flushed spectacularly, tongue flapping about with no coordination whatsoever.

Vinyáya raised her head high in triumph. She was learning his reactions quite well.

* * *

Knowing that an argument was looming the second their tour guide left for her other duties, Vinyáya utilized a strategy that had been among her favorite in the last two decades.

She made Holly fucking deal with it.

Grub would have probably given them away during the major's diversion if Vinyáya hadn't covered his mouth with a hand and dragged him out a side door by his collar, where a cab was already waiting. He was shoved inside, her jumping in after, and the door slammed shut so violently that the windows shook. The driver immediately complied with her order to "GUN IT, YOU FOOL," embedding them in the seat cushions for the first fifteen seconds of the escape.

When their bodies had adjusted to the speed and seat-belts were snapped, Grub gave her a wide-eyed look, turning for a moment to glance out of the rear window at the rapidly disappearing hospital. "Huh. I never thought of doing that."

"You never had subordinates to sacrifice," she reasoned, relaxing into the seat.

"Oh...yeah!" Grub perked up considerably. "I've got some, now, you know."

Smirking at him, Vinyáya asked, "You have all sorts of horrible things planned for the new recruits, don't you?"

"Oh you have _nooooo_ idea," Grub affirmed, an evil laugh entering half his words.

They spent the rest of the ride having a disturbingly pleasant conversation about how to give fairies a comprehensive welcome to the force. As with many organizations, it was tradition to put the worst duties before the newest members, to help prove their resolve. Hence, Traffic detail and, in particular, the Traffic billboard suits. Grub was at least somewhat mature in his plans. For example, unlike his own superior officer so many years ago, he wouldn't override the suit display with such things as "I am a moron," instructions for a motorist to go forward when he was standing directly in front of said motorist, or cycling animations of dwarf males committing lewd acts with goblin females...when walking through the city's most goblin-dense suburb. (Which, despite what one may think, were not the ideas of Trouble Kelp.) He was, however, not much more merciful.

By the time the taxi arrived in front of the house below the hill, both officers were nearly in tears, and the cabbie had a very twisted idea of what the LEP do in their main offices. Grub provided the coin while Vinyáya took a surreptitious look up and down the street, trying to see if Brenner was lying in wait. Luckily, even an overbearing mother could not conquer a head-start in Haven traffic, and the elves were able to walk calmly (if quietly) up the path and into the house...though Vinyáya did immediately slam the door and do up all the latches.

It never hurts to be safe, after all.

Perimeter secured, Grub allowed himself to laugh again, this time at the woman's jittery behavior. Her elven motherly suspicions were beginning to make themselves known. "You know, she's not a vampire, Vinyáya."

"Of course," she shot back, finishing a survey through the peephole. "Vampires have to be _invited_ inside."

Grub hissed at the insult, but remained smiling. "True. Maybe we can board up the windows?"

Vinyáya thumped her forehead to the door, shifting it side to side. She could feel the deepening of the tiny lines about the corners of her eyes as she enjoyed the banter, and allowed the pleased look to remain on her face as she turned about to rest her back against the door. She needed all the extra support she could get, nowadays. Given how fit she was, the wing commander had no idea how other women dealt with moving during the last portions of their pregnancies. "If I had the materials and energy, I might actually take you up on the offer." After the extended laughter and her heightened awareness while going up the front walk, even this little comment took all of her breath.

Grub's left ear flickered and his gaze turned sharp, taking in her awkward posture. "You should sit down."

"I'm fine, Kelp." Despite that, she could feel a slight haze over her mind. Her breaths were coming short again; one of the more inconvenient side-effects of having her torso crowded. She could not fully expand her lungs sometimes, and it made her lethargic and marred her concentration. She'd been forced to call off her inspection walks with Short just a few weeks ago, after the invasive Dr. White had caught her pallor at the end of one jaunt.

"You can sit down," Grub offered, approaching her, "or I can make you sit down before you pass out."

She tried to push back from the advancing male, but the wood at her back prevented her from escaping. The entryway was narrow; perhaps not even wide enough to let her slip by her tenant without jostling him. As the distance between them began to shrink, she let her fingers curl in on themselves growing tight, the nails making tiny indents in her skin. "How about you drop it or I _make_ you drop it?"

He was only about a foot and a half away, now, and far into mixing the bubbles of their personal space. Here he paused, tilting his head to the side as he considered the change in the woman's demeanor. He scowled, but came back with something that shocked her entirely.

"I don't think you will."

She opened her mouth to snap a denial, but found herself unable.

"Vinyáya?" Grub pleaded, holding out a hand to her. "Please. Just until you stop looking so pale."

She hadn't realized the lack of air was affecting her quite so much. While she normally thought of the man as an insufferable worrier, the commander had nearly fainted in front of him once, and she did not care to disgrace herself again. Thus, she pushed away from the door, considering the male's steadying hand for a moment. Then she raised her own, not taking his, but waving his off, urging him to the side.

He obligingly stepped away, but only long enough to let her pass in the narrow space, so tight that their hips brushed. With her back already to him, Vinyáya failed to notice Grub quickly closing his eyes, Adam's apple bobbing until she had gone away. He did not let her get too far before following, wary in case she should stumble suddenly, her equilibrium damaged by the moments of breathlessness. The house had little furniture, reducing the dangers presented by her situation, but he had never been one to take risks. Especially with her so close to term.

Vinyáya didn't care for the idea of the male following her all the way into her bedroom. He had never been asked in there before, and she would not give a tacit invitation. His mother was the one accused of vampirism, but he was just as dangerous to bring to her inner sanctum. So she veered to the left and went quickly to the living room couch, taking the middle cushion and facing the side, with the intent of crowding out his presence.

She had just begun to take the first of her recovery breaths when she felt the cushions shift and his presence appeared at her back, seeming even closer than when they had touched in the entryway, though there was no tickle of breath on her neck to explain the rising of the hairs there. His lack of words may have been calculated to let her focus on recovery, but the barely-felt warmth of his body prodded her consciousness. In the end, his silence had the complete opposite effect. The meditative rhythm of her breathing was ruined before it even had a chance to develop fully, and Vinyáya gritted her teeth.

"What are you _doing_?" she said through the small gaps between her sharp incisors.

"Making sure you're okay," he defended, adjusting himself to bring a leg up under his body, copying her sideways position. "And wondering if you really did watch that video I picked out."

"I _did_," she returned, her hands falling to the gap between the cushions, gripping so she could hunch her body another inch forward. It did little to help. He was still there. So close. And he was right. She no longer had it in her to force him away with a bodily attack, and she had come to the horrible conclusion that he could not be deterred with any words she could come up with, if he thought her personal safety was at risk. Which left her only with the option of retreating, and she was like the boy's headstrong brother in that regard. Retreat was not an option.

"Could have fooled me. Have you been practicing the breathing exercises?"

"If I recall," she wheezed, cursing her body for it's weakness, "that wasn't part of the agreement."

He grunted, his glare boring into her back. "Great excuse. Really. Just watching the video is not going to help you."

"I'm not in _labor, _Kelp."

"And thank the gods," he shot back. "If you can't handle this, what are you going to do in a month? You're breathing way to fast!"

She almost snapped out the words:_ I can't focus when you're so close!_ She had to bite her cheek until sparks raced out to heal the bruise she caused. The pain kept her in check, but further distracted her from the rise and fall of her chest. Black spots swirled before her vision.

"Hey! Breathe, dammit!" Leaning in, Grub pressed his hands on the Wing Commander's back, pushing up. "In! Breath in!"

She complied, but it was only because she gasped at his touch. Her spine went straight, responding to the intrusion, which unintentionally made her arch back towards him until she _did_ feel his breath on her neck, warming the skin, his hair brushing her sensitive earlobes. She couldn't force herself to move any more.

Which meant that, a few seconds later, Grub's hands pressed down, stroking to the small of her back as he urged in his softest voice, "Out."

The air came out almost like a sob. One quick explosion that left her dizzier than before. She was getting tired. D'arvit, fainting in her own home when sitting down...it was ludicrous.

"_In_," Grub commanded, hands sliding back up. He couldn't understand how this woman—easily the most intelligent one he had ever known—was having difficulty with something so autonomous as breathing. "Please, Vinyáya!" He couldn't take this. His every sensible thought was to call 909 and get emergency services. Surely this wasn't normal!

The black spots in her eyes were widening. Her mouth was open, desperate for fresh air, but all her lungs took were shallow mouthfuls, gone as quickly as taken. In? What did he mean? She couldn't...no room. She could feel herself teetering. Going...

"Frond dammit!"

Arms wrapped about her chest, pulling her back into something solid. Something that yelled in her ear, "Like me! In!" And then the solid mass rose, putting pressure on her back, the movement somehow seeping into her oxygen-starved brain. Her lungs expanded, going to what she had moments ago assumed was the limit of the space they could take in her crowded body, and then violently further in a loud gasp, the flood of fresh air exploding the black spots into white stars that blinded her eyes for only a moment before fading away.

"Out, out!" The voice behind her urged, and the pressure on her back lessened in exact accord with a stream of air flowing past her neck.

She obeyed, and then again complied with a breathe in, and out again. On the third repetition, the voice went silent, and Vinyáya's slowly wits returned. Each round of breathing was a little longer than the last, until she smoothly took in air for six seconds, pausing for two before letting it all out again, the timing almost like meditation.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Grub whispered, his arms tightening despite his worries about putting pressure on her lungs, bringing her shoulders even deeper into his body. "This is why you need to practice. I don't care if it's a labor video; you have problems fainting, and don't deny it! Don't ever do that to me again!"

_To me?_ She concentrated on the steady, tandem movements of their chests, getting two more breaths in before she responded in a voice that was far too small and slow. "Your...fault."

"How?" he grunted, not yet defensive, but ready to become so if she blamed him for the crisis.

"It _is_," she insisted, turning her head so she could face him.

Only realizing a moment to late that she shouldn't have done so.

In the panic of the moment, the longer stands of Grub's hair had escaped from behind his ear, shading his eyes. It could not hide them completely, however, and when he was this close, she could see the rapid widening of his iris.

Vinyáya noticed this and so much more as her recently waning adrenalin spiked again. Her attention seemed to zero in on those few hairs, which had shifted down to tickle against her lips. And her own. There were just a few. Ten, maybe. And their small number made her realize how very little space there was between them. Ten hair's worth.

A long time passed. Neither dared move. Only the lightening of Grub's complexion could have forced Vinyáya to speak. Even then, she wasn't entirely sure he would hear her.

"You...should breathe," she reminded.

He barely did, but his exhale made the hairs between them float away, warming her lips and drying them cruelly.

Their chests began to again move in perfect unison as they stole breath from one another. The air they took in was hot.

Under this intense scrutiny, Grub soon lost his nerve and squeezed his eyes shut "S-sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Shut up," Vinyáya commanded in her softest voice. Out again. In again. She leaned back to lick her lips, which his breath had made so very dry. She didn't lean quite far enough, and the smallest tip of her tongue brushed across his mouth, making his next breath come out in a sigh between barely parted lips.

"V...Vinyáya?" he ventured, barely heard.

"I thought I told you...to shut up, Grub."

His entire body twitched at that one word, eyes coming open again, their expression stating all too clearly that, despite all the evidence from the warmth of her body and the feel of her in his arms, he was still astonished she was so close. And even more astonished when her own eyes sparked with defiance and moved closer. And closer...

The knocker at the door must have used their fists to be so loud. To the two elves inside, it sounded more like the largest bass drum in the world being attacked with a sledgehammer. Grub yelped and Vinyáya snarled, head snapping the half-inch necessary to face the door. The half-inch that brought their lips apart before they had a chance to meet.

"Hello?" The voice at the other end of the door was female. And all-too familiar. "Hello, anyone home? Grubby?"

Grub groaned, his head lolling back. Why? _Why?_ If they were just quiet, maybe she'd go away.

And then he looked across the living room to the large windows at the front of the house. The blinds were drawn, it being late in the day and the house's automated systems having already taken care of that. He knew this wouldn't stop her, though. There were little slits where the blinds didn't quite overlap. Through those, something could surely be seen. And there was no doubt in his mind that she would look. Celebrities pretending they aren't home is like a mating call to the press.

"I know you're in there!" Hibiscus declared. Based on the noises from the other side of the door, she was shuffling about, trying to hear the residents and peeking through the wrong end of the peephole.

"I'm going...to kill her," Grub muttered.

"Not if I do it first," Vinyáya returned, rising from the couch.

With his arms still about her chest, Grub simply tightened his grip, thumping her back down to the cushions. He let go a split-second later, rising unhindered by a reciprocal grip. He took a few long strides, going out of sight as he turned into the entryway. With no preamble, and a rather alarming shriek that made Vinyáya wonder if he'd pulled the hinges right out of the frame, the door was wrenched open.

"_Mother_," Grub accused in a word.

Based on the long pause, Hibiscus seemed to have realized something was irritating her son. However, she soldiered on with a chipper and rapid greeting. "Hello again, dear. I'm sorry we didn't get to talk at the hospital. That young woman you brought along just wouldn't let me get away!" She paused again, and Vinyáya could feel the tension even as far in as the living room couch. Hibiscus must have been supremely brave (or terribly oblivious) to finally venture with, "Is...the Wing Commander home so we can all talk?"

She...couldn't quite make out what was being said. Vinyáya could tell that Grub was saying something, but he must have been whispering it almost directly into his mother's ear for his host to not understand. He took quite some time to say it. When he was done, she heard the clicking of high-heeled shoes, tapping once. Twice. Each almost imperceptibly further away.

"Good night, Mother," Grub chirruped. Then slammed the door.

Vinyáya blinked. Quite unexpectedly, her respect for the man doubled.

He reappeared in the doorway, squeezing his nose and rubbing his thumb along the side that led up to a little tic that had formed in his forehead.

"Well...how'd it go?"

"I think...we reached an understanding."

"Ah," Vinyáya said, raising her hands and making little finger-quotes. "An 'understanding'."

He laughed harshly, nodding. "Exactly."

And then they were looking at each other again, but from so much further apart.

Vinyáya noticed that, even without touching, she had again begun to match her breaths to his. He had the perfect rhythm to clear the darkness from her vision and make her head clear.

"So...uh..." Grub swallowed and forced a smile. "Hormones still a problem, huh?"

"I...what?"

Even with a clear head, his words could be unfathomable. In her confusion, he managed to escape Vinyáya's piercing gaze, looking away. The hand at his face moved about to rub the back of his neck, mussing up his hair. He blew out a long breath, which she copied, and it made her feel like more than air had gone out of her.

"I should know better," he declared, his dark skin growing just a fraction darker about the cheeks "Shouldn't get too close to you when your body is all out of whack. I just...I was worried." He coughed, hoping the expulsion of air would make his words dissipate just as quickly.

Vinyáya watched him, clear mind working far too efficiently. She managed a dismissive shrug. "It's quite allright."

Bringing his hand back about, the man studied his moonometer, scowling at what he saw there. "It's later than I thought. I should get cooking." Without even waiting for a response, he took advantage of his manufactured distraction and made for the kitchen.

"Alright, Grub," Vinyáya returned. And then waited.

No wait was necessary. One of his feet managed to get caught on the very edge of a floorboard, sending him careening halfway across the hall before he landed on the other foot, hopping three times, arms pinwheeling until he regained his balance. Then, without even bothering to put both feet on the ground, he looked over his shoulder, mouth agape. "Wh...what did you say?"

She crossed her arms and glared. "It _is_ common for people who know each-other well to use first names, correct? I assumed that could apply here, seeing as we do live together. Or have I _completely_ lost my mind?" Maybe she had anyway, despite the reasoning.

"I...right!" He finally put both feet on the ground, standing tall, though his eyes were still as wide as a rabbit's mid-hunt. "Ex...exactly...Arnica."

Arnica Vinyáya winced. "Uh..."

"W-what?" Grub barked. "It's your name! Don't tell me I'm not allowed!"

"No, no. It's just..." Vinyáya looked to the sky for help, wondering if she should just drop the idea, when the gods didn't intervene. "It's not because it's you. _No one_ calls me Arnica. Not even Duke. The last people to actually use that name were my parents, and my mother has been gone for some seventy-odd years."

"...Lope called you Arnica," Grub whispered.

"I...yes," Vinyáya admitted. "And...I hope things with you don't turn out the same as with him."

A smile crossing his face as he understood, Grub nodded agreement. "Y-yes! Definitely!"

They shared smiles, and Vinyáya knew she must be copying his earlier blush, but she didn't mind so much. It was...nice. His name on her tongue had felt new, in a way. A name was such a personal thing that gaining a new one in some ways created an entirely new person. It seemed only right, since she was a lot more tolerant of this "Grub" than she had ever been of "Kelp," to begin using his proper title. Even if she could never allow him to use her own, simply out of habit.

Given the renegotiation of their relationship, Vinyáya didn't feel at all awkward over the familiarity as she flapped her hands at him in dismissal and boomed out, "Now go make me my dinner, woman!"

And, despite not knowing exactly what was going on in his former mate's head, Grub gladly complied, humming all the way through the dessert course.

* * *

**Preview: "Picture, you're the queen of everything,/ far as the eye can see under your command./ I will be your guardian when all is crumbling/ I'll steady your hand."**


	43. Don't Let Me Go

**As a reminder, my Christmas contest is still going! I've only got 5 entries, and I am **_**very**_** disappointed in all of you for not writing. Come on! Do it! Prompt on my profile (winner gets podficced!)**

**Also, here's where I get horrifically dramatic. Apologies, but I'm doing this as reasonably as possible.**

* * *

**Song: "Never Say Never" by the Fray**

* * *

**Chapter 43: Don't Let Me Go**

**Week 37**

She woke up with a tube in her nose, penetrating deep down her throat and directly into her lungs. The air it provided her was slightly cold from the filtering system, and it shocked her lungs constantly, not going along with her breaths, but in a steady stream. Next to her, the pump clicked and hissed in a rhythm far off from her own breaths, not affected by the sudden rise in respiration brought on by her situation.

Vinyáya lifted her head as much as she could. About two inches, in all, before a soft strap across her forehead arrested her movements. She tried to strain against it, but the only result was a twinge of pain in her neck, and she soon gave up. Instead, she looked down her body, eyes going in and out of focus, and tried to gather more information about the room she was in.

It was brightly lit, almost harsh, and nearly all from an orb directly above her body, which she could only look at for a fraction of a second before it burned at her retinas, making her blink furiously and look away. There were other machines about her, though mostly at her head and feet, with her sides left almost free. On her left was a stainless steel rolling table, and she tried to lift her head further to see what might be on top, but was again hindered by her straps. Beyond all this were four avocado-green walls completely lacking in decoration, except for a single door at her feet, which was only identifiable by the tarnished bronze handle.

Her arms were tied down, as well as her head, along with her legs at the ankle. Each tie was quite tight, and she had to congratulate the person who had secured her. The Wing Commander was perhaps the slipperiest of escape artists, and it took unmerciful bonds to keep her in one place when she had no desire to be there.

And she certainly had no desire to be here. Not when she was...nude.

She turned her head away from her pregnancy-transformed body and gasped. She tried shaking her head vigorously and...nothing. There was no slight shift about her ears. No silken whisper. She didn't need to turn to one of the nearby black-screened monitors to check her reflection and confirm what she knew to be the case: she had been shaven. Not just her head, but, she knew from her earlier look down her body, everywhere else. She suspected even her eyebrows had been sliced away, leaving her...anonymous, she realized. A body. Trim, yes, and pregnant, certainly, but her most distinguishing feature was taken away, and with such ease. A simple razor, like any young male fairy was given by his proud father.

She clenched her fists, pulling back until they came up against the wrist restrains, and she pulled harder, feeling the cut of the straps against her skin. When it became too much, she shifted her fingers to a pointed shape, popping several joints free as she compacted her hand until it was almost the same size as her wrist, wincing at the shock of pain that went up her arm. She pulled again, but the strap was precise. It would not cut off her circulation, but neither did it have a millimeter of spare room. She pushed her hand back in, playing her fingers until all popped back into place, the pain turning into a slight throb that she pushed to the back of her mind.

_Well_, Vinyáya thought, letting her head fall back to thump gently on the table. _This is interesting. Dammit, Short, whatever is going on, you'd better get off your ass and in here, or I will take you off combat so fast—_

Her thoughts were interrupted by a rattle. Raising her head again, she watched the door, heartbeat rising as the handle turned—almost imperceptible from this distance—and the door swung open, admitting a humming elf who was in the process of wiping his hands dry with a pure white towel, tossing the cloth to the floor when he was done. Behind him was a a pair of pixies, both wearing hair-covering caps and face masks, so all she could use to identify them was their brown eyes. And, considering how many pixies had that color, it was of no use to her at all.

"Dr. Ginko," Vinyáya said, feeling the tension in her body alter, becoming a dim and rising anger. "What is going on here? Untie me this instant!"

"Calm down, dear," the physician soothed, wheeling a chair over to her bedside, siting with one leg brought high up on the rungs, elbow resting on his knee. He looked down at her, and the blazing light above her body hit his glasses perfectly, turning the surface a constantly shining white, making it impossible to tell if he actually had any eyes behind the lenses. "You're lucky someone brought you in when they did."

"Lucky? _Lucky?_" She snapped, flexing her arms to make the restraints squeak and strain. "Explain yourself, _now!_ Why am I tied down, and what in all the hells did you do to my _hair?"_

Ginko looked up at her bald pate and tutted, reaching until he almost touched the exposed skin, but delicately bringing his hand back when he was only a millimeter away. "We had to remove it, to ensure a sterile environment. No sense in operating, if the baby catches an infection, is there?" He smiled like a good friend, reaching over to the stainless steel table and picking up a long, white packet.

"Operating?" Vinyáya repeated, eyes going wide. She looked about the room. Shouldn't more doctors be present if there was to be an operation? An anesthesiologist? A bodyguard for her? "Why? For what? Let me go, dammit!"

"I am afraid I cannot," Ginko said, tearing the packet in half, filling the room with a smell not unlike nail polish remover. Ginko made no moves to manicure, instead pulling out a long stick with a brown ball attached to the end. He scooted his chair closer and tapped the ball to his patient's stomach, laughing softly as her skin flexed in response to the chilly liquid that covered the cotton tip. He began to slide it across her belly, completely changing the color of her skin in the process, tossing this swab aside after a few seconds and taking a second from the supply table and beginning again. "I'm afraid you've gone far past term. I need to perform a Cesarean if your son is to survive."

"I said to let me go, civilian!" She tried to move her body away from the swab, but her restraints were truly clever, and she barely shifted. "Let me go, or I will bring the entire LEP down on your head. _Literally!_"

"Please, calm down. That will be completely unnecessary, Councilwoman." Ginko took a new instrument from the table.

The scalpel was almost as bright as the light above her, and the tip seemed to flash, no matter what angle it was held at. It almost seemed to rend the air as the doctor positioned it along his fingers in the exact manner that one would hold a pen, lowering it to hover just a breath away from the taut skin of his patient's belly.

He looked up from his task, catching her eyes and smiling gently. "You don't have enough magic to survive this."

Then he cut, and blood pooled around the blade, the reflection on the perfect metal surface making it seem like the liquid was traveling up the instrument and into Ginko's hand, her life force sucked away, her magic sparking for only a moment before sputtering out.

She began to scream. And scream. And scream.

* * *

The world was made of nothing but red and noise and she struck out, screaming, hitting something, then hitting air, and then feeling pressure on her wrists, trying to restrain her, but she damn well wasn't going to let that happen again, by the gods, not again!

"Vinyáya! Vinyáya, calm down! Wake up! D'arvit!" The voice broke off for a moment, the silence corresponding to another hit, and she tried for that same spot, but the voice was clever enough to have moved away, but she could still _feel_ it, and it had to go away. It had to go away and let her go and—

"Fuck, Vinyáya!" The voice put its hands on her shoulders, pushing hard, then taking the pressure off, then pushing again, shaking her body, making it bounce, head snapping in a counter rhythm, head pounding. "Wake up, gods dammit! Please, Vinyáya, please wake up!"

She snarled, snapping her eyes open, taking a split second to analyze the figure above her, locating it's head with certainty, and bringing her fist up with all her force, crashing directly into it's nose, howling in triumph as she felt a crack, the voice falling away, a completely opposite howl coming from deep in its chest as it covered its face, blue suffusing the strike zone.

She slid out from under the straddling knees, landing on the tips of her toes, one hand to the mattress to steady herself, far more graceful than her pregnant form should have allowed, and brought her fist back for another strike.

"Vinyáya, stop!" The voice cried, holding up a hand. "It's me! It's me, Grub! Kelp!"

Her fist shot out again, and, just an instant before it hit his temple, recognition flashed through her mind and she adjusted, shifting her punch so it just grazed the captain's head, making him yelp and duck low to avoid further attack.

Her heart beat faster and harder than it had since she was a young elf, and she felt the urge to vomit, but kept it down, but only just. Vinyáya's entire body shook as she looked across the bed and finally let her consciousness take in the situation. Grub Kelp was in her bedroom, in her _bed_, and she had just attacked him. And, if her memory of being flung on the mattress was any indication, he had prompted this by attacking her.

"_What the fuck are you doing here? Get out! Get out now!"_

"You were screaming!" Grub yelled back, eyes going wide as he took in her renewed attack stance and words. He backed down the mattress, but did not get off.

It put him in perfect proximity to her legs, and she tensed them, ready for a strike to the groin. It was fair revenge for his audacity, coming into her bedroom, trying..._whatever_ he was going to try.

"You were having a nightmare," he continued in a babble, unaware of his great danger, taking his hand away from his lately healed nose, putting a bloody hand to his shirt to wipe away the red pool before it stained her sheets. "I thought you'd wake up, like before, but you were screaming for a good half-minute, and it was...I couldn't take it!" He shuddered, eyes wide, face pale. "I came in and tried to just tell you to wake up, but you hit me, so I had to shake you, and...gods, I had to shake you so _hard, _are you okay?" He reached out a hand to the woman, and yelped as she struck at it, hitting the bones on the back of his hand perfectly with her knuckles.

"No, I'm not okay!" She screamed. "I am overdue and they're going to cut me open and it's all your fault, you asshole! Get away from me!"

Confusion suffused his face, making his brows crunch close together, mouth opening to a small "o," and he looked at her carefully. "Overdue? No, you're not. There's a half-month left, at least. What are you talking about?" Then his expression inverted, brows flying up, mouth a big "O" of comprehension. "That was what you were dreaming about! About going overdue and...being operated on?"

She was about to scream that it wasn't a dream, but instead brought her wrist up close to her face, analyzing the dozen dials of her moonometer until she worked out the precise date. He was right. It was the last day of June. She didn't even consider that someone could have reset the instrument. It was special Section 8 issue, filled with enough tech to rival a Recon helmet, and guaranteed to only respond to her.

She looked up at her sudden bed-partner, not breathing for a moment. Then she finally comprehended. "I...oh, gods, I...I'm sorry, I didn't..." She swallowed. Her leg untensed, silently calling off the attack on the male's maleness.

Grub laughed in relief, and would have done so a lot louder if he had known the pain he so recently escaped. "I thought you were going to murder me when you woke up..."

"I think I was," Vinyáya confessed, examining his face. It looked just fine, and she felt instantly guilty over not being able to donate her magic to the healing. It was a common apology gesture, as the expenditure of energy was a far more weighty thing than simple words. Instead, she ran a hand through her hair, and paused. She actually let out a small sob when she realized it was all there.

"Vinyáya?" Grub whispered. When she didn't respond, he swallowed, looking about the room, and edged up the bed. He paused after a half-foot, watching for her reaction. When she didn't move, remaining with fingers digging into her tresses, almost pulling at them, he gathered his nerves and moved up further, until he sat on the pillows, back to the headboard, stopping just short of laying a hand on her shoulder. "Hey...hey, calm down."

"I _am_ calm," she lied. "I'm just...groggy."

"Yeah," Grub snarked, "And I start crying when I'm tired, too."

"You did, once, during your studies," she pointed out.

"Those were special circumstances," he sniffed. When she didn't laugh at his dignity, he said, "Hey," again, this time barely nudging her elbow with a finger.

She turned her head to glare at him for the touch, but the concern on his face wiped away her anger only a second later, and she groaned, moving her hand down to rub at her face. "This is just...perfect."

"Um..."

"I was being _sarcastic,_ Grub," Vinyáya continued. Letting both hands fall to her lap, she looked down to inspect the joining of her fingers. "You've heard me all this time, then?"

She could feel the bed shift slightly as he nodded. "You mostly wake up within a few seconds, and it's...never been this bad."

"Lemme guess," she drawled, looking up to his face. "Pregnancy symptom?"

He nodded again. "Mom said she dreamed about dingos digging up her garden when she was pregnant with me."

"Lucky bitch," Vinyáya muttered, and then winced as she realized she had just insulted the man's mother when he was only a few inches from her.

He laughed softly at the very same moment that she'd realized...he was only a few inches from her. In her bed. She hadn't felt any real sexual desire for the last month or so, but the mere physical proximity made her skin tingle, sparking a simple hunger for contact that had been plaguing her since Lope had broke off their relationship. With a little reel, she realized that the entire reason she had not felt that ache for most of the past decade was her frequent contact with this man. He wasn't chosen to simply be touched, yes, but, in the process of their frequent trysts, she had grown accustomed to his skin against hers, fulfilling a simple social need that she otherwise let grow uncontrollable and almost sickening in intensity.

She felt her body leaning into him...and then balled her hands into fists, jerking away.

Grub watched her, biting his lip. "I..._did_ I hurt you?"

Her body felt like it was burning, but it was certainly not pain she felt. Slowly, she shook her head. "I'm fine. Maybe a little bit of a sore neck." She shrugged it away, but Grub was not so willing to put it aside.

"Oh, let me," he said, reaching out, putting a single finger on her neck, an inch into her hairline, and trailing it down to the small of her back, releasing a liberal spray of sparks as he went.

She shivered, feeling her body loosen at the simple touch. Once she recovered, the remnants of the sparks affecting the rest of her body, releasing the tension within her muscles, she let out a long breath, licking her lips. "I...thanks."

"You gonna be okay?" Grub said, his expression not yet lightening after the apology healing. "I'm not sure what to do about bad dreams like this. Sleeping pills aren't an option, and...well, I don't _think _it's psychological. Are you worried about going over term?"

"Not really," she said, pursing her lips. "I just...I guess the entire thing is unsettling me. The pregnancy. I can't relax."

"Anything I can do to help?"

There was a fairly obvious answer. _Wake me up_.

It was the simplest solution, but the measures that would need to be taken... The bed was large, but she was sure that even the King's Chambers in the Frond Mansion would not be large enough to keep her from feeling a second presence in bed with her. Or perhaps just one particular presence. She had barely noticed Lope, after all, despite him occasionally putting a hand on her as she slept.

If Grub was there...if he _touched _her...

"No, I'm fine," she answered, pushing the sheets back, glad that it was a cool night, and she had opted to wear both bottom and top to her bedclothes. Flashing her rear at the captain would probably have killed her. She reached for her phone as her legs swung off the mattress, dialing up the cab service she had begun using when even she could not deny that driving her magna-cycle to work was a terrible idea. "I'll just go in early and catch up on the last of the paperwork before I hand things off to Short." She scowled at this. Again, an inevitable thing, and one that was causing Holly no end of panic.

Grub also frowned his disapproval, but more at the plan, rather than the necessities of maternity leave. He'd been subtly pressing her to take leave for the last several weeks, as the LEP would cover far more time off than she was taking. "You shouldn't go in. You need to sleep."

Pulling a change of clothes from her dresser, Vinyáya snorted. "It's just an hour or so early. I got plenty of sleep."

"It's _three_ hours early," Grub corrected, his eyes never leaving her as she went to her small powder room, fetching two large bath towels. "That's nowhere near enough sleep, this late in the pregnancy. Hell, your normal sleep schedule isn't enough!"

"I assure you, it is," she shot back, turning so she could narrow her eyes at him. When he was about to protest again, she headed him off. "Don't think that laying me a few times means you know my body better than I do!"

"You—!" He spluttered once before managing to get his mind caught up with his mouth. "I just want to make sure you're okay!"

"I am," she asserted, voice even but far too cold to keep the hurt from flashing across his face. "Now, if you don't mind, I never asked you to come in here. So get out."

He seemed to want to say something, but eventually just swung his long legs off the bed, taking loud strides to the door. There, he stopped, hand on the frame, and looked back at her. After getting up his nerve, he shot out, "I'm not going to listen to it anymore. I can't take...hearing you like that."

"Oh? What, then not just trying to steal into my bed? I'm insulted, Grub." At his open-mouthed shock, she snorted. "Then get some ear plugs and get _out_."

His fist clenched, sending a shift in musculature all along his arm, but Grub said no more. He simply followed her orders and left, and soon after, his bedroom door slammed shut.

Vinyáya tilted her head at the sound, quirking an eyebrow. She really hadn't thought he had it in him.

* * *

"_You_," Trouble said, taking his seat at some speed such that he slid across the cafeteria bench and came to a rest in front of his brother, a dripping-with-cheese nacho directly under the younger's nose, utilized to make sure he knew whom was being addressed, "look like shit."

Grub considered this for a moment.

Then he crashed his teeth down on the nacho, shattering the semi-stale tortilla chip, darting his tongue out to clean the shrapnel from the corners of his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing and answering. "Vinyáya."

It was, surprisingly, no longer answer enough. "What happened this time?"

"Screaming," Grub responded.

Trouble's brows became lost in his hairline.

"_Nightmares_," Grub explained, having narrowly avoided saying, "in bed," which would have just ended the conversation right there.

"Oh, well," Trouble said, taking a mouthful of nachos and speaking around them. "Noh wonwer. Sha fufed yoh."

Grub was not going to let that go. He waited until his brother was chewing enthusiastically, and then pointed at his plate. "There's troll-milk cheese in that, you know."

Trouble slapped a hand over his mouth, looking across at his sibling, eyes enormous. After a little whimper, he swallowed, the unchewed sharp edges of the chips raking down his throat, making his eyes water. When his mouth was free (if his stomach occupied, like a conquered territory), he stuck out his tongue while whining, "Why would you even _say_ that! It's not true! ...is it?"

Grub speared a forkful of salad and chomped contentedly, leaving his brother to make his own conclusions. Really, his objections to troll-milk were completely irrational; it was treated just as strenuously as any other dairy product. Though...given that no one actually kept trolls, harvesting the milk was an...interesting process.

When Trouble was finally recovered enough to not hate his younger brother (more than any brother did), he finally asked for and got the details. He seemed amused at the situation—particularly Grub being in the Wing Commander's bed—but became pensive as her dismissal was detailed.

"Harsh," Trouble concluded, to which Grub nodded solemnly. "I mean...it's not like you tried to get a squeeze in, or anything."

Grub coughed on a yellow tomato, but managed to get it down. "Of course I didn't! I was just worried about her!"

"I know, I know," Trouble reassured. "Still, you know she doesn't like that. People..."

"Not wanting her to exhaust herself to death?" Grub finished blandly.

"Well...yeah."

"It's not like I can help it," Grub complained, laying his hands palm-up on the table. "Hell, not like I _want_ to help it! Just...would it kill her to at least try to be careful?"

"Maybe. I think she's allergic to rationality." At Grub's scowl, Trouble sighed, bravely picking up another nacho. Troll milk, being so hard to get, was terribly expensive, so the chance that his meal contained it was pretty close to nil. Hell, the chance that his meal contained any actual dairy product was questionable. "Look. I'm just saying, she's not going to make things easy for you. You can't take 'no' for an answer."

"I _know_ that, Trouble!" Thumping his head to the table and groaning, Grub seemed about ready to give up on life in general. "I just...don't know what to do!"

Trouble considered this while he chewed, trying to analyze the tastes. Grub would occasionally use the delicacy milk in special dinners, but the Commander had tasted it so rarely—and his palate was so limited—that he couldn't be sure. Ignorance was truly bliss, he decided, as he topped the entire dish with the spiciest salsa he'd been able to find. "Well...would she hurt you?" After a moment's consideration, he added, "intentionally?"

Grub was silent for some time before moaning, "Nooooooooo," at the floor.

"Well, then, be just as stubborn as she is."

"I don't know if I caaaaaaaaaan," Grub mourned.

"Ah, well." Trouble shrugged. "Then you lose."

Tilting his head back so his chin rested on the table's edge, Grub slitted his eyes at his brother, who merely crunched away, trying to get through his lunch before it became entirely soggy. "Do you think it'll help?"

Trouble shrugged. "Can't hurt." When his mentee began to melt into deeper into despair, he reached out, ruffling the man's hair. "Ah come on. Stiffen your resolve." Taking his hand back, he popped in another chip, leaning back and smiling as he chewed. "Not like she'll let you stiffen anything else..."

Grub growled, and the defiance should have worried his elder brother. "Oh, speaking of stiffening," he said conversationally, raising his head from the table, arms folding under his torso for support, tilting his head to the side curiously. "I heard Chix has requested leave next weekend."

Trouble paused, breathing in carefully counted beats, mashing down the flare of his temper. He couldn't lash out at his younger brother. It wouldn't be right. He needed to support the man in his hour of need. Needed to guide him to a happier life. Was obligated, as the elder, to—

"Aw, fuck it," Trouble said, picking up his lunch plate.

Half an hour later, Grub was in the middle of his fourth lather-rinse-repeat cycle, and there were still long strings of cheese in his hair. He wondered if he should tell his brother to avoid the nachos for a few days. Nothing but troll milk had this kind of cohesion.

…._Nah._

* * *

Vinyáya was dragging by halfway through her shift, but she had been this tired and worse before. Maybe if she had to take her bike home, she might have called it a day, but the cab rides had taken away that incentive entirely. Still, she wasn't going to test herself by staying so late that she was asleep during the ride home (she never allowed herself to get that tired, in case some of her Section 8 missions came back to haunt her), and that meant she was checking the clock every five minutes...and then every three...and then it seemed like every second, waiting for a full eight hours from her arrival to have passed. No sense in shirking duties when they were almost done, or in seeming like she _needed_ to leave. Even if she sort of did.

She was in the middle of staring at the clock, wondering why in the name of Frond's second queen did it not just _move_ already, when she was roused by a knock at her door frame. Her head shot up and she blinked hard twice to get her eyes to adjust properly, and scowled at what she saw. "Alder?"

The elf was stocky for his species, his skin uncommonly pale, matching the wood of the tree for which he had been named. His eyes also matched the namesake, the green the same shade as healthy leaves in springtime. "Wing Commander," he began, hesitatingly, holding up a tablet. "May I have a word with you about an officer that applied for my team?"

She sat up straighter, interest piqued. "Certainly, Commander. How can I help? Which of my boys has caught your office's attention?" She was rarely asked about her subordinates, unless they needed discipline, as the Wings were considered a rather respectable branch of the LEP. Alder more commonly spoke to Verres about his new charges.

"Not one of yours, so much," Alder said, crossing the room, his eyes down on his data tablet. Some part of her noted that he really needed to update his equipment; that one was decades out of date. It was odd, as Commander's generally had the most sophisticated tools.

He didn't seem to mind, though, meeting her eyes and asking, "What about this gentleman you've been having your lunches with?"

She was confused, for a moment. She'd been taking most of her lunches—and the large majority of her snacks—in the office. And then she recalled with a roll of the eyes. The sprite. The pushy sprite. "Yes? What about him?"

"Well...I've heard mixed things about his behavior. You don't seem to be showing any interest in him, but yet he is still insisting on eating with you." Letting the data tablet angle down until it's top tapped against the desk, he placed his other hand on the polished surface to stabilize himself, leaning in so he could speak low and confidentially. "I can not have my officers harassing anyone in the LEP. Least of all you. So, tell me...is he?"

She considered the new officer. She'd told him that she wasn't interested, and yet he still joined her nearly every day, offering tidbits from his tray. She was about to answer Alder in the affirmative...but paused.

She'd decimated him during the sparring match, and yes, he'd come back to lunch within a few days, but...he hadn't pushed his intentions since. Brought them up on occasion, yes, but the discussions rarely lasted longer than fifteen seconds, and then they moved on.

"He's...persistent, yes," she finally answered, brows coming together as she considered his methods. "But not..."

"Vein?" Alder prompted blandly.

Rolling her eyes, she nodded the affirmative. "He's certainly not afraid to take risks."

Alder looked concerned. Risks and his branch went hand-in-hand, and not always to the benefit of the officer's health. "Reasonable risks?"

She spent a good ten seconds laughing before telling the commander that, no, his risks were about as far from reasonable as one could get.

"Hmmm," Alder responded, tilting his tablet back up, reading through the display. When he got to the end, he looked to the ceiling, face tightening as he considered. Then, glancing back down, all the tension seemed to melt from him, going out with a grin and a back-handed slap against the data tablet. "Well, then. I suppose I need to give this Lieutenant Arbles a chance, don't I?"

She nodded, hoping that she wasn't blushing. "I suppose we do."

Alder took in the comment and watched her carefully. Then he knocked his knuckles against the desk, like a judge ending deliberations. "Well said, Wing Commander. Wing Commander. Wing Commander."

"Wing Commander?"

Vinyáya blinked, head jerking up from the desk. She blinked rapidly, jaw tightening as she fought to keep in a yawn. She looked across the desk, and then focused her gaze down as she failed to find a head at the altitude she had started at.

"Wing Commander?" Cirrus said again, holding his tablet to his chest, as if it could shield him against a just-woken pregnant woman. "Shall I..." He let the words hang, hoping she would supply her own answer, and thus save him from making a wrong decision. She rarely spoke out against him, but she could certainly give him some less-than savory errands to run. Especially once the baby came. He had already raised his own children. He did not want to go back to dirty-diaper laundry duty.

Vinyáya blinked a few more times, fully waking up (or as close as she could) and then allowed herself to yawn. "Call the cab service, Cirrus. I'd like to head home as soon as possible."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, going quickly to his own office, thanking the gods that he had escaped so easily.

Vinyáya watched him go, waiting until his door was closed. Then, before she began to shut down her terminals and gather her things together, she took a few moments to close her eyes and lay her head in her hands, not sure if she wanted to remember that meeting for a second time, or wipe it from her mind forever.

* * *

If Grub had decided to stiffen his resolve, as advised, he didn't have much opportunity to do so. The gossip grape vine had informed him that his landlord had gone home early, and only a call to check in with the cab service and confirm she had got through the front door without problems allowed him the calm nerves necessary to keep him to the end of his shift.

When he got home, nearly crashing through the front door and calling out her name, Vinyáya barely did him the favor of calling out, "Here." He had walked to the living room entryway, where he looked in to find her sitting in the armchair, headphones placed over her ears, blasting out the cries of the damned and the devouring. Any attempts he made at conversation were waylaid by her return of, "Shhh. I just got the hollow-point bullets."

Even dinner, which he had been hoping to share, as she sometimes allowed lately, was artificially separated by her inattention. He managed to sit and eat on the couch, despite the gore, but she didn't touch her portion until long after he had finished and it had gone cold. Even then, she didn't bother to reheat it, merely slurping down the broccoli-cheese soup in a few mouthfuls. He silently took up her bowl and went to the kitchen, rinsing it clean and putting it in the dishwasher. Never before had he resented his position as primary (well...only) cook and cleaner, but in this moment, he wished he had the courage to rip those damned headphones off her ears and give Vinyáya a piece of his mind.

Instead, he wiped his hands off on the towel, started the dishwasher, and went to his bedroom, where he began to peruse books on handling the first few weeks of parenthood.

The advice to build a good support system was very..._very_ depressing.

* * *

"_This is serious, Arbles," Vinyáya hissed, jerking at the oxygen canister on his back to make sure it was properly secured for the pod ride. "We've got to catch that elf. He's escaped every Retrieval officer for centuries. Even Root and Vein can't catch him."_

_ "I know, I know," he muttered, tilting his head to the side until his neck cracked, and again in the other direction for a matching, alarming pop. "Don't come back without him, death before dishonor, all that. I've got this, Wing Commander."_

_ She'd never known him this chatty. Though, admittedly, she didn't allow much chatting during their communal lunches._

_ Her checks finished, he stepped away from the woman, turning to give another of his casual salutes. "Hey, if I break the dive record, how about a little celebration? Drinks, yeah? My treat?" It was an insane offer, given everything, and he conveyed it with a mad sprite's grin. At least she wouldn't attack him now, when he was about to go on a top-priority mission._

_ She rolled her eyes. Core diving. Rookie posturing._

_ "I've got this, Wing Commander," he said, wings parting from his back to make him seem larger and more appealing to interested females._

_ She turned from the daft man, waving a dismissive hand. She needed to get back to the mobile operations booth. This was the biggest chase of the decade. Gods knew why Alder wasn't sending a more experienced fairy—like Root, Kelp, or even herself—up to make the arrest._

_ He really should have been focusing on the upcoming mission, but the sprite was undaunted. He called to her retreating back. "I'll see you in a few hours. And don't try to get out of joining me, this time!"_

_ She shook her head and kept walking. There was no time for this, really._

_ Then, something told her to look back. She tried to fight it, but that only lasted for a good three seconds. She halted, looking over her shoulder at the sprite, who was backing away from her slowly, making for the pod that would soon take a ride in the exploding magma chutes, waiting for her response with a nervous smile._

I am going to regret this for the rest of my life...

_ "All right," she grumbled, tucking a strand of hair out of her eyes as the man's face broke into an enormous grin that seemed about ready to split his head in two. "It's a date."_

_ He didn't whoop in joy, but she assumed that would come when he pulled out of his dive. He certainly walked to the pod a lot faster. That was good. This mission really couldn't be delayed._

_ "You're never going to leave me alone, now, are you?" she said, though the captain was separated from her by the blast doors and several hundred feet, and would never answer._

_"Pod ready for release," the techie said as she took her chair in the command booth, his voice flat and disinterested, despite the half-dozen buzzing LEP officers surrounding his workstation. "Permission to release, Wing Commander?"_

_ Vinyáya nodded. "Permission granted."_

_ The clamps opened with a thunk that was not only heard, but felt in their feet, and the pod began to fall. To fall. To fall._

_ "Bom! BOM! BOOOOM!"_

* * *

"Wake up, Vinyáya. Come on, wake up!"

Her eyes snapped open, and she jerked at the touch, dexterously turning in midair, landing to face her attacker. In such close proximity, she had little chance to build up force, and her fist hit crossed arms, rather than a face. She recalled herself a moment later, freezing.

When another attack did not come, Grub lowered his arms, opening one eye to peek at her through the top triangle. "You done?"

She didn't respond. Twice in two nights. Not as bad as the first one, but only because she had been woken up. If she had been allowed to keep dreaming, that shuttle would have hit the core, and the screaming would go on for a few seconds and then there would be just white noise over the radio, her ears still ringing from the pain and terror and sorrow—

"D'arvit, that's it," she growled, again throwing back her bedsheets, feet hitting the floor. When she put weight on them, however, her knees refused to cooperate, and she barely got an inch up before she fell back to the mattress, unsecured breasts bouncing painfully. She was almost surprised they didn't burst forth with milk at that exact moment, and wondered if that would make them feel any less tender. She tried to rise again.

"Oh, no you don't," Grub declared, grabbing and yanking her wrist. Before she had a chance to twist about and break the grip, he had let go, so that she flailed uselessly, but was now facing him. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, now that her attention was on him.

"I'm awake. I'm going to work," she said reasonably, going to rise again.

Again, his hand caught her, this time at the shoulder, and pulling so hard that she fell back onto the bed, looking up at his thunderous face. "No, you are not!"

She was stunned. Both because he dared defy her, and also because he had managed to force her down. What was wrong with her? She tried to rise once more, and he renewed the pressure on her shoulder, putting his bulk against her somehow inadequate strength.

"You only went to be an hour ago, and gods know how long you spent tossing and turning before you fell asleep. Now, I'll grant that maybe you can function on three hours less than normal, but on one total? Not a chance."

"_Fine_," she shot back, shifting sideways so she could move out from under his touch, her head going to rest on one of the many pillows. "I'll go back to sleep. Now get out."

Grumbling, he moved sideways to get off the bed, and Vinyáya flipped the covers back over her body, rolling so one edge was caught under her body, creating a warm seal.

She closed her eyes tight, waiting for the pad of feet across her faux-hardwood floor and the click of a door latch.

She didn't even feel the shift of weight leaving the side of the bed.

Snarling, her normal temper augmented by lack of sleep, she rose to her elbows (which were almost as wobbly as her knees) and glared at the man sitting on the side of her bed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Grub was watching her, and the sudden rise made him scramble back. "I-I..." He swallowed, head lowering in submission as he muttered something.

She caught only the first word, and it sent a jolt of alarm through her. "You're _what?_" She began to inch her hand towards the bedside table, and the hidden compartment in its side, which would supply her with a small but suitable blade. There was no way. He did _not_ just say...

"S-stiffening my resolve," he repeated. When the commander's eyes flickered down to Grub's lap, he rolled his own, willing his body to not respond in the manner she suspected, even as her attention to the region caused a sudden and unwanted increase in blood flow. "You're just going to have another nightmare, right?"

She brought one of her legs up the bed, prepping a unseating kick to his posterior. "Maybe, but it's _none_ of your business!"

Vinyáya was about to let the tension in her leg muscles go to good use when Grub rose from the bed of his own accord, turning to face her. "If I'm waking up in a panic because I think you're hurt, I think it damned well is! I told you, I can't take that!"

"And _I_ told you to get earplugs!"

"I have a better idea," Grub proclaimed, leaning over and snatching two of the thicker pillows from off the bed. "I'm going to wake you up. Faster."

She waited for him to add something that would make the idea _not_ patently ridiculous, and, when it didn't come, she laughed. She kept laughing for several seconds before his raised chin made her hilarity peter out. "Oh gods," she murmured. "You're serious." She began to reach for the blade once more.

"The floor," Grub said quickly, dropping one of his pillows to the faux-wood. After a pause and a sideways tilt of the head, he smiled and added, "Unless...?"

"Not a fucking chance," Vinyáya said. "For _either._ Get out."

Grub shook his head violently. "You can kick me out of bed, I'm sure, but you can't drag me all the way out of the room."

"I can sure give it the old college try," Vinyáya shot back, rising further in the bed.

"_Vinyáya_," Grub barked, making her pause. When he was sure he had her attention, Grub took a deep breath and tried to smile, barely getting a twitch in the corners of his lips. "I'm not saying I'm going to move in. But will you at least just put up with it for a night? Until one of us thinks up something else? I do tend to find the answers, you know."

She considered it. Very, very carefully. She needed the sleep, yes. But was she going to get it when he was laying on the floor not ten feet away? Was he really going to stay down there, and not snake his way in beside her under the sheets? What in the world could she say to keep him from doing so? Could he find the answer, as he had done so often in the past few months? More importantly, what could she say to get him to leave her the fuck alone?

What she wound up doing was growling like a feral cat, laying back down on the mattress, turning her back to him, and pulling the covers so far up that all she allowed to remain uncovered was a small tunnel about her nose. She prayed, _prayed_ that he would rethink his decision or realize that not giving permission meant he didn't _have_ permission, rather than the other option of no objections meaning no objection.

Instead, after a minute, she felt the folded blanket at the foot of her bed whisked away, and heard the snap of it being unfolded and shook. Then a little muttering as Grub lay down on the hard floor and adjusted himself for a very uncomfortable night.

If she wasn't sure she'd be just as uncomfortable, she might have pitied him.

* * *

"_If I sit there again," Bom ventured, putting just one corner of his full lunch tray down at the Wing Commander's table, "are you going to twist me into a pretzel?"_

_ She took a deep breath of coffee fumes to allow a little endorphin rush through her veins. Internal Affairs had reprimanded her as best they dared for the sparring debacle. Which basically amounted to Ark Sool beginning a tirade in her office, and meeting with her empty stare, which remained unchanged as he spoke slower and softer, slower and softer, until he petered out with an unintelligible murmur. Then she had smiled and told him to leave her office so she could do something that would actually _benefit_ the People._

_ It was good to be Councilwoman._

_ "I may," she admitted._

_ Bom scowled, thinking. "Um...could I at least be one of those awesome ones with the parmigiana burnt on top?"_

_ Taken aback, she paused a moment, then found herself nodding._

_ "Well, good. Now that that's settled..." And he begin to array his meal as normal._

Pretzels? _Vinyáya thought, looking over at the food line. _What in the world is he talking about?

* * *

"_They're fucking awesome, right?" Bom pointed at Vinyáya's meal the next day._

_ She felt the unaccountable desire to hide the cheese-and-bread treat, and settled on taking a large bite, to help get rid of the evidence a bit faster._

_ "That's what I thought."_

* * *

_She couldn't exactly tell him to leave. It would be as bad as a retreat. And she couldn't report him for harassment, because all he did now was eat his meal. He barely spoke, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, for giving her some peace, and a curse, for filling that peace with obsessive thoughts on his motives._

_ Some weeks later, without looking up from her book, she decided to clear up matters. "I'm not going to date you."_

_ He snorted. "Sure. You say that now."_

_ There wasn't much you could say to something like that._

* * *

_Falling...falling...falling..._

"Wake up," Grub commanded, but it wasn't so panicked as before. Nowhere near as harsh, and it took far less effort to shake her out of her dreams and into reality.

The sheets had fallen away from her head and chest, and Vinyáya turned so she could see the male.

He was on the bed, but just barely, bent over the edge, knees on the floor, torso on the sheets, and an arm extended to grab her shoulder. He blinked slowly, watching her, and when the tension began to roll off of her body, he sighed happily and let go. A second later, he melted off the bed, falling with a tremendous _whump_ to the floor, the following groan informing her that he might have just sustained a significant head injury.

Vinyáya stared at where he had been. Then, her sleep-deprived mind deciding it just wasn't worth the effort, she flopped her head back down and was out once more.

* * *

"_Aw...is da widdle lieutenant boddering da big bad Wing Commandaw?" Vein snickered as he passed by their table._

_ She knew better than to respond that the lieutenant was, in fact, irritating her, so the elf merely went on enjoying her break._

_ Her enjoyment was cut short a minute later, when she realized that...he _wasn't. _Bothering her._

Oh...oh balls.

* * *

_Fries were his once-a-week sin, and he always managed to get her to join in the debauchery, at least a little. She had almost come to anticipate it, after a year of silent lunch companionship._

_ "Reconsidered?" He said, brows raised._

_ "Nope," she said, not even needing to ask about what._

_ "Didn't think so." The rest of the bag disappeared slowly as the lieutenant savored each salty piece._

* * *

_As her back slammed into the ground, arms flying back to hit simultaneously and disperse the force, Vinyáya wondered how the hell she had made_ that _mistake. He'd slipped his leg between hers, foot angling to the side and catching her ankle as his shoulder slammed into her chest. She'd rocked back, tripped by his foot, and here she was, on the ground, with him following after, his knee brought up so it rested against her stomach, one of his hands next to her head, the other brought back for a second strike._

_ That was the mechanics of how she came here. As for how he had gotten past her normally impenetrable defenses...?_

_ The sprite smirked, his wings extended in the aftermath of his triumph, eyes somehow both bright and friendly, and dark and full of ill intentions._

Ah, _she thought, swallowing. _Yes, that would explain it.

_A second later, she had gathered herself, slamming the tips of her fingers into the second joint of Arbles's wings, making them go limp, the flash of pain distracting him so she could grab his shoulders and push, following his roll. She landed in much the same position, ready for a closed-fist strike, her knee resting a few inches lower than the stomach._

_ Breathing hard, and perhaps, she concluded, not all because of their sparring, Bom's eyes darted down to his delicates, and then up to her face. He grinned, holding his hands up in surrender. He had made a mistake. Not in sending her to the mat, but in enjoying his triumph and not expecting retaliation._

_ Vinyáya waited, uncurling her fingers and bringing them in once again, fist even tighter. She didn't move her knee, well knowing what sort of damage could be done with her substantial training._

_ And then she was off of him, standing easily, despite the one-handed, one-footed balancing act, waiting several feet off, adjusting the folds of her gi._

_ The sprite continued to look at the ceiling for some time, flexing his wings until he was sure her attack had done no permanent damage to the delicate joints._

_ "I'm waiting, Captain," she huffed, indicating the badge he had applied to his gi, despite it's having no place in a sparring session. He had simply been unable to remove it since he'd passed Alder's initiation. She suspected he even wore it to bed. "Don't slow down because you're comfortable with Retrieval. It's past time you make the next move."_

_ He sat up suddenly, watching her, trying to decide if he was utterly insane for thinking she had implied...anything._

_ She looked back with emotionless eyes combined with a heated smile._

_ "Y...yes, Wing Commander," he said, rising to his feet. "Whatever you say."_

* * *

_Sizzling and popping, metal curling away from its joints, steam rising from within. There was no water in the pod. Why was there steam? Where did the steam come from?_

_ And then she realized, and screamed louder. And louder, her throat going raw and bloody from the endless cries._

_ And louder._

_ "UP! D'arvit, again!"_A voice commanded, and she shot up in bed, hands flying to cover her vulnerable stomach. She didn't even think to strike back. Anything she could do to retaliate would open up her defenses, and then...and then...

She looked up, and the recognition of the face before her stopped the whirl of her thoughts. A rich brown with darker eyes, no scars about them, despite spending time in the most dangerous LEP branch. Hair that he could keep in check during working hours, but which had become a disaster area in sleep, with the shorter bits sticking straight up, and the longer weaving together into a rat's nest of epic proportions.

"Grub?" she said, feeling idiotic a moment later.

"Awake?" he responded, his half-closed eyes showing that he very well might not be.

"I..." Vinyáya nodded.

"Oh...good," he came back.

Then his arms gave out and he flopped onto the bed, making her bounce as the mattress undulated under his not inconsiderable bulk. His mouth was open, the tip of his tongue out, and his left leg hung off the side of the bed.

Vinyáya shook her head, trying to clear it. Even with that, she found the situation had not changed. Grub Kelp was passed out on her bed. She looked about the room, wondering if there was a suitably strong pole she could use to poke him until he fell onto the floor again, but found nothing. Grumbling, she brought a foot as far up her body as it could go, preparing to shove him off without care or ceremony...but paused.

She willed her foot to kick out. It didn't matter where the strike went. Even if it was to his stupid head. Just so long as he was out of her bed.

A minute passed, and she glared at the ceiling, teeth clenched. The gods...were bitches. Every single one of them. They could line up in a single, orderly line and wait patiently to kiss her exalted ass before she ever worshiped them again.

Shifting to the far left of the bed, taking a pillow with her, Vinyáya turned away from the intruding body, covering her ears with her hands to drown out his soft, even breaths.

_I don't care if he has his own bedroom. He's sleeping on the couch for this. Bastard._

* * *

She awoke many hours later. At the whim of the alarm clock. And very, very confused.

No more nightmares. Not even the most surreal of dreams. Nothing. And that just could not be right. Not after one the previous night, one during work, and then an entire string when she went to bed. She had assumed more would come. Endlessly, uncontrollably. Then how...

"Oh, gods," she moaned, not even lifting her head to look back at what she knew awaited her. "No...no no_ no.._.."

Behind her, a voice barely managed, "Mrh? Wuzzit?"

Vinyáya sat up, a hand to her head, wondering if she could possibly be feverish. There was nothing there, so she put her hand to her stomach, wondering if the mystery lay in there. She prayed for a ripple and flash of pain that might mean labor, which, she assumed, could have stopped her from entering REM with initial contractions, thus preventing dreams. That, however, was a ludicrous hope, and there wasn't even a dull throb she might have put on par with menstrual cramps. The conclusion was rather unavoidable.

Turning her head, she looked at the elf laying in bed next to her, a pillow pulled so tight to his curved-up body that his face was hidden within, and she could not figure out how he took on that position without suffocating himself. He had barely roused at her words, and she wasn't entirely certain he had remained awake.

He had stopped the nightmares. Not just woken her up, but prevented further nightmares from occurring once he had become entrenched in the bed. How? Why? And, most importantly, what did she have to do to duplicate that _without_ him sleeping with her again? Because that was simply not an option. She would not request him to share her bed, or even just silently allow it. Not when she was being rational after a full night's sleep. When he had first settled down, she'd been half-exhausted and probably clinically insane. Now, there was no excuse.

She needed time to think, and she could not do that as he spooned her pillow an arm's length away. Exercising caution in her movements, Vinyáya slipped out of bed. She was going to need a long and—she was ashamed to admit—very _cold_ shower before she felt ready for the day.

* * *

Trouble punched Grub in the side of the head.

_"Ow! Ow! What? That hurt!"_ Grub glared back at the commander, massaging his abused ear.

"I hate you so much right now," Trouble growled.

"What, you want to sleep with Vinyáya, then?" Grub returned sarcastically.

"If it would wipe that smirk off your face, I just might."

Grub squeezed his spork, the handle cracking under the pressure, and wondered if the implement was strong enough to castrate a man. "Don't...even...joke."

"What?" Trouble said, shrugging. "You can joke about my romance issues, but I can't joke about yours?"

"Exactly," Grub declared, irrevocably and swiftly.

Trouble looked mournfully at his empty lunch tray. It seemed the days of dining and dashing were long gone. Now he was forced to sit around and listen to his little brother's problems. Talk and reason and evaluate _ad nauseum_. Like...like..._women._

The idea so disconcerted him that he had to focus on the most manly part of Grub's story. "So, you slept with her."

"Don't make it _sound_ like that!" Grub whined, throwing his head back. "I was just trying to keep her from having nightmares!"

"Seems a stupid way to do it," Trouble returned.

Grub glared at his brother. "It made sense to me," he said patiently. "And, anyways, it wasn't what I had planned on."

Trouble raised an eyebrow. "Dear gods. You make plans? I thought everything you did was accidental."

Grub was not enjoying the ribbing in the least. He needed help. If he didn't think the techie would back-handedly insult him all through the conversation, he might have gone to Fowl for help. As it was, besides his brother, the only other person he could think of that might listen to the problem (because, while he was now on somewhat friendly terms with Lili, discussing with his ex the night in bed with Vinyáya seemed like a _terrible_ idea) was...his mother. And, oh, she would listen. By the gods, she would listen, and then she'd try to foist off that...that..._thing_ on him, again.

"Look...I just...I was only planning on waking her up, and I sort of...accidentally stayed on the bed." He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hell, I'm shocked she didn't kick me right out."

"Or smother you with a pillow."

"Yeah, exactly. Or smother..." Grub blinked.

The captain broke into an enormous smile. "Trouble, you're brilliant!"

Trouble also blinked. "You're going to smother her in her sleep?"

But he didn't get a positive or negative answer. Instead, Grub sprang to his feet, leaning over the table to wrap his arms about his brother's neck, bringing the commander's head into his chest in a crushing hug that instantly set off Trouble's Man-sensibilities, which manifested in useless struggles.

"I know what to do!" Grub crowed. "It's brilliant! It has to work!"

Trouble slapped his brother's back, trying to force the hold free, but the younger elf apparently thought it was a particularly hearty pat, and just squeezed tighter.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Grub babbled as his brother's face turned a lovely shade of puce. "It'll work, I know it will!"

"Greeeeeeet," Trouble wheezed, and a second later, he was let go, and took in a gasping breath. When he looked up, ready to rail out against his attacker, he found Grub was already long gone, the cafeteria doors swinging in his wake.

* * *

"_Are we...together?"_

_ She looked down at the elf. Gods, he was such a _young_ idiot. Maybe Vein really would have been a better choice. Or even the boy's older brother. Commander Kelp had an excellent reputation as a lover. Unfortunately, he was also quite firm on his fidelity. He would agree to a sexual relationship, no doubt, but it would completely negate his ability to actually date, and he would eventually ask for their liaisons to go public. And Vein...well, he'd just about shout it to the rooftops that he banged another LEP hottie. This one? He was new enough to sex to be completely caught up in the act, but also driven to silence by the knowledge that any rumor would end his office playtime; yet a quick-enough learner (and, she was immeasurably pleased to note, physically gifted in the most pertinent quality) to make the sex worthwhile._

_ And then he said stupid things like that. What a waste, really. "Seriously? Gods, you are... No. We are not '_together.' _You are...fun."_

_ If a female officer had come to her and constructed this scene with the genders reversed, she would have put the superior up on trial so fast the figurative ink wouldn't have had time to dry on his dismissal before his badge was in her hands. And, for a second, she flinched at his own flinch and repetition of "Fun?"_

_ But the situation was completely different. Female superior, male subordinate. Besides, he wasn't in her chain of command. She never _ordered_ him to do anything. Not in a military sense. She might tell him to put a hand there, a bite here, go at this speed, but that was just to get things accomplished. Sticking with the affair was entirely his decision. His made bed to lie in._

_ They said some more small things, and she couldn't help but grow amused at his words. It was like he wanted to _complicate_ things. Wasn't just sex enough? Gods, plenty of other officers would be thrilled if a desirable woman asked them to have daily sex with no strings attached. They'd probably be waiting with a smile and no pants from the moment they clocked in._

_ So she ruffled his hair, like the foolish little boy he was, and gently slapped his cheek. "Can't you just go with this?"_

_ He didn't say he couldn't. Which meant he could. Turning, she left the office, peeking outside before she left, to make sure no one was in the halls. No sense in being outed, after all. Not with a partner like _him.

_ Still, it was a wonder no one had guessed that she had picked up a partner. She was being so nice, lately._

* * *

"Come on," Grub muttered, shaking her shoulder. "Up." He yawned hugely, pulling back one side of the sheets and sitting on the bed, one hand still on Vinyáya's skin.

She blinked rapidly. Was she..._fuck,_ she was. Vinyáya wiped at her eyes. Gods dammit, he had come in when she was having _that_ sort of dream? She hadn't even been aware the memory could make her react in any way. Hadn't even recalled the incident until just now. The Wing Commander was certain she hadn't screamed, but something had prompted the man to come in and wake her up as she dreamt about tearing him apart.

She gritted her teeth, concentrating hard to keep her shoulders from shaking. It was just too much. Her entire life was too much to handle. She was exhausted and raw, and he was being so...dammit! How was it that his acting a little nice made her feel like this? Like such shit?

She squeezed her eyes tight.

"Hey, hey," Grub whispered, reaching out and laying a hand on his sudden bed-mate's forearm, stroking slowly. "I woke you up, it's okay. Gods...this is really bad, isn't it?"

She gritted her teeth. "No, it _isn't._"

He paused. Then sighed. "Okay, fine. Just go back to sleep." He slid his legs under the sheets, picking up one of the pillows and holding it tight to his chest. He faced Vinyáya, and his closeness made her want to back away. But she could not. Could not retreat from him, when all he was doing was laying there. The hand on her arm remaining, stroking slowly up and down.

Despite her rationalization, she felt her skin go hyper-sensitive, and tensed, ready to jerk away.

But...it felt good...just to be touched, even if it was for something so awkward as having a nightmare.

"If you tell anyone about this, I will neuter you," she growled.

"I assumed," Grub responded, pausing to squeeze her shoulder, and continuing with the stokes.

Slitting one eye, Vinyáya studied the man so close to her.

He had a beatific expression, looking down at her arm and his hand, but his eyes were closing little by little, his exhaustion taking control again. It must be difficult, having his own sleep interrupted by her screams. Perhaps he couldn't have ignored her, but he could have been irritated. Yet he just let his eyes close, hand slowing and stilling, still pressed to her soft skin, fingers curved for a gentle grip.

When she was sure he had fallen asleep, Vinyáya finally began to move down the bed, his hold shifting until just his fingertips touched her, and then even those fell away. Of his own volition, Grub smacked his lips and brought the arm into his body, squeezing the pillow even tighter.

Thus freed, she moved away until she settled on the edge of the bed, her back to the man, supplementing their original positions with several extra inches of safety. She would need to give him a talking-to about staying on his side, tomorrow night.

With a groan, Vinyáya thumped her head down into the pillow, spending a few moments in self-suffocation. _Tomorrow night?_ Where had all her resolve gone?

* * *

The alarm clock sounded like...well, an alarm clock, really. Not doom, not destruction, not the legions of the damned. Just an alarm clock. Because nothing in the world sounds so horrific as an alarm clock.

Vinyáya reached before her, flailing about for the alarm clock. She stretched, trying to reach it and cease it's clamor.

She could not stretch far enough.

Vinyáya frowned. She looked down at her waist, where she felt pressure.

She scowled at the arm about her waist.

A second later, her eyes bolted wide open.

She looked to her back.

Grub opened his eyes to slits, growling deep and dangerously.

Despite her logical side saying she was neither the subject of the growl nor in any sort of danger from this poor excuse for an officer, a tiny nudge of fear made itself known.

A less-than-tiny nudge against her rear and spine also took that opportunity to make itself known, and she shuddered, heart thumping enough extra blood to make her head spin. It was just the morning. That was all. The morning.

Pushing himself up on one elbow, Grub leaned across the bed, body hovering over Vinyáya, one knee coming over her to rest next to her waist for stability, and he slammed his fist on the snooze button.

Vinyáya watched the uncommonly aggressive assault and felt she highly approved. It was a bitch of an alarm clock.

Giving the clock a glare, as if daring it to do that shit again, Grub grunted his triumph. He put his hand down, resting it next to his bed-mate's head.

Then he looked down.

Vinyáya looked up at him, wishing desperately that it had not been such a warm night. He had apparently gone to bed in the barest of nightclothes, leaving his chest in full view, a pair of...she had to admit, rather nice, loose, silky black boxers over his toned rear. For her, both top and bottom garments were almost scandalously thin. The breezy black fabric shifted over her chest and upper thighs, and she could feel every point at which the two elves contacted. And they contacted at many, many points, including one long, thick line that went up onto her stomach, moving of it's own volition.

Grub's arms began to shake, all strength abandoning his elbows. The dangling edges of his hair seemed to create a veil between their faces, blocking out the world and almost all logic. Almost.

He spoke aptly. "Oh. Shit." Rapidly, he pushed away, landing on his side of the bed, arms pinwheeling a moment as he nearly fell off. "I, uh...sleeping!" He grabbed one of the pillows and placed it on his lap, pressing down.

"I assumed," Vinyáya breathed with a little twitch of the lips. Swiftly, she wiped it away, mentally reprimanding herself. That was just a _bad_ idea. She was coming up with a lot of those, lately.

"Yeah. Um...sleep any better?" Grub asked after some time in which he had tried to find any subject of conversation that didn't focus on his unintentional frottage.

"A bit," she confessed reluctantly, pushing herself into a sitting position, arching her back until it popped several times, one seeming to go off in the front of her chest.

As her eyes were closed during the maneuver, she failed to notice the rapid widening of his, brought on by the things her amplified chest did to the thin black material of her top. He pressed down harder on his pillow, swiftly licking his lips.

"Considering digging a hole in the mattress," she finished.

Grub's eyes went wide and he squeaked. "W-why?"

She looked at him, one brow raised. "My stomach." She realized what he had assumed a moment later, and snorted. "Rather high opinion of yourself."

"Oh!" He laughed cautiously. "Right. Hah...well, not much longer, at least, huh?"

She shrugged. "When every day feels like an eternity..."

They sat in semi-companionable silence for a few moments.

The..."pressure" suddenly became too much. Grub spun and swung his legs off the bed. "Well, gotta get to work!" The captain stood swiftly (and somewhat awkwardly, given certain impediments) and darted out of the room, a large, fluffy object crushed to his side.

Vinyáya watched him go, and only one logical thought was in her mind, though she assumed she must be hallucinating. _What?_ _Why...did he take one of my pillows?_

* * *

"Do I even need to point out how distracted you are?" Holly said, finishing up a tablet full of paperwork and handing it back over to her Section 8 superior. Soon to be her off-duty superior. The idea of heading up Section 8 and the Wings was causing her no end of distress, but knowing the mother planned to come back far before the LEP's generous maternity leave required eased some of the major's distress.

Vinyáya's head jerked and she looked up, across the steel table that was her desk at the secret headquarters, meeting Holly's eyes. She accepted the tablet, but did not check the contents as she pressed her thumb on the lower right of the screen, the area flashing green as her print was accepted, along with her muttered password. "Distracted, Holly?"

They were always far more casual when in Section 8 headquarters. While technically their order of power was identical in the secret ops as to the LEP proper, they had spent far too much time together in dire peril to insist upon always maintaining the formalities. Though, even here, Vinyáya was "Vinyáya," and not Arnica. She spent far too much time functioning in an official capacity, and had actually begun to have a hard time recognizing her first name if it was called.

Holly leaned back until she could put her boots on the table. An act that caused Vinyáya to scowl. Not for it's impertinence or unsanitariness. No, it was simply because Vinyáya's stomach—which now resembled nothing so much as the bottom of an egg in it's almost unblemished smoothness and roundness, barring the belly button—made such a procedure dangerous, if not impossible. And Holly well knew this, which was exactly why she smirked as she spoke. "You keep zoning out whenever we're working. I thought we'd be done with the transfer, by now."

Her nostrils flared at that word. "Transfer." The transfer of power. As much as she wished she could run Section 8 from the hospital bed, the mother knew she'd be too mixed up with pain and exhaustion to give any sort of coherent response to an emergency situation. It was better to have Holly—young pup that she was—react, rather than someone potentially hopped up on painkillers. It was unlikely that the People would be put in mortal peril in the month that the boss would be absent. However, Holly had long ago learned that she was the Great God Murphey's favorite plaything, so she was slightly nervous.

"Vinyáya?" Holly said again, snapping her companion out of the thoughts that had again taken her away, replacing her normal attention with a blank look.

"Hmmm?" The wing commander looked down at her screen, blinking, trying to read the display. All the correct items had been signed. It seemed such an odd formality, in a secret organization, but every bureaucracy had it's paperwork. She began to add her own signatures, confirming Holly in her position as temporary head of the secret ops. "I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"Huh. You don't have any bags under your eyes, for a change."

Vinyáya pursed her lips. "Ah...it was noticeable, then?"

Holly snorted. "Have you stopped reading the tabloids?"

Vinyáya tilted her head, puzzled. "Actually, yes. About a month ago. They're rather...inaccurate, these days.

"Oh." Holly raised a brow. "You think so?" She found herself shocked that the Wing Commander wasn't keeping up with the public perception of her situation. After all, it was the Wing Commander herself who had advised Holly to keep track of her name in the news. Luckily, except for a few speculations about her own womb around the time that Vinyáya's delicate (psh) state had been revealed, all Holly had to deal with was the more salacious papers, which loved to speculate on a lesbian relationship with Lili. She and the princess got a lot of giggles whenever one of those came out. They usually celebrated each new headline with a night in the LEP tavern, combined with some suggestive looks and touches (and in the company of Artemis and Trouble, who gave each other pitying glances when things got most intense), which just fed the monster. And resulted in more drinking.

"Well, that does explain a lot," the younger elf continued. "You should be paying attention, regardless, Vinyáya. They certainly noticed your sleep issues." Holly coughed, fist to her mouth, and shifted her eyes about in a suspicious manner. "Among other things."

"'Other things'?" Vinyáya repeated, head tilting the other way.

"Nothing," Holly hastened, flicking her fingers to indicate that Vinyáya should finish up the tablet, which she did. "I mean, not like it _changes_ anything."

As she completed the last portion of the transfer paperwork, the screen flashing acceptance, Vinyáya put the device down and stared across at Holly. "Changes what?"

"Nothing!" Holly yipped, rising to her feet, with Vinyáya following suit. Holly raised a hand to her temple, saluting. "Wing Commander Vinyáya, I am here to relieve you."

She considered halting the transfer and ordering the Major to tell her what she was alluding to. If it was a direct order, Holly could not disobey. But...she wasn't exactly sure she wanted to know. Or let a subordinate know that she somewhat wanted to know. So Vinyáya snapped her hand to her temple and intoned, "I leave my post in your hands."

They released the salutes simultaneously, and Holly snatched up the tablet, spinning on her heel and marching towards the tech center, where Artemis was already waiting, ready to brief her on the state of Section 8's equipment.

Vinyáya stepped around her desk, hand outstretched and mouth open. Before she could squeak out a sound, she stopped herself, bringing her hand back into her body. She didn't want to know. She did _not_ want to know.

* * *

Despite the fact that he could beat the younger man three ways to Sunday, Trouble still sparred with his younger brother. Slowly, but surely, he was improving. Trouble thought he might even become a decent fighter by the time they were both retired. They had made some adjustments in their routine, however. Most notably, they didn't talk during the exercises. Neither thought they had a significant reason to beat each other senseless, as Trouble had done months before, but one never really knew what could set two brothers off.

Thus, by the time they entered the locker room, they often had plenty to discuss, the exercise giving them time to sort through their thoughts. Trouble was ready to recount his latest conclusions on the Lili Frond situation (which he spent far too much time analyzing, and none at all acting, as his younger sibling had helpfully pointed out the day before), but was quickly derailed as Grub took his gi top off and unwound a plain white sack from his stomach.

"What the...is that a bandage?"

Grub looked at his chest, confused on what had caught his brother's attention, and then at the fabric in hand. "Oh. No," he said, holding it up. "Pillowcase."

"P-huh?"

Carefully folding the item and placing it in his locker, on top of his workout shirt, Grub took out a towel. "Brilliant plan, believe me. Vinyáya slept fine when I was in the bed, so I figured—"

"When you were _where?_" A tragically familiar voice barked from the end of the locker row.

The brothers didn't need to turn their heads to recognize Ash Vein, but they did so anyway, and their expressions matched perfectly. Trouble had been less-than happy with his subordinate in the last few weeks. To help Holly deal with temporarily taking up Vinyáya's Wing Commander duties (that particular transfer taking place in the coming week), he was being given some of the responsibilities of a second to Commander Kelp. The handover wasn't even finalized, and he was already suggesting that the changes be permanent, even when Vinyáya returned.

Grub? Well, Grub had never liked the cocky officer, and, as he walked down the row, wings only brought in enough to keep the tips from raking the green metal lockers, he had the feeling he was going to like the sprite a _lot_ less.

"Her bed? The _Ice Queen's_ bed?" Ash laughed, stopping just out of Trouble's extended strike range (he was cocky, but he wasn't unaware of what kind of graces he was in). Pulling his left wing fully into his body, he leaned against the lockers, kicking one leg forward to cross it over the other, his arms also folded over his chest, and the right wing extending further. "Dear gods, Maggot. How the hell do you do it?"

Grub could feel the sides of his ears pressing a bit tighter along his head as they pressed back with the intensity of his dislike. He did not want this..._whatever_ to talk about the mother of his child. "I don't know what you're talking about." Trying to go as fast as he could, Grub untied his gi bottoms, slipping them off and folding them away in his locker, along with his other clothes, sandwiching the pillowcase between.

"I'll admit," Vein said with a defeated sigh, "you've got something going for you, if you keep getting her to spread her legs. And Lili's." He smirked as Trouble's ears slicked back just like the younger Kelp's. Leaning forward, voice lowering, as if he wanted them to join in some conspiracy, Vein hissed, "Come on. What the hell have you been doing, kid? Give a guy some tips. I doubt Frond is going to stick with that E1 pansy for long, and I do believe it's my turn in line, eh?"

Trouble growled, pulling on the ends of his gi belt until the middle snapped together. He had been in the process of folding it when the sprite arrived, and he now seemed ready to use in an impromptu garrotting. "Vein, don't you—"

"Don't think I can help," Grub interrupted with a regretful sigh, draping his towel about his shoulders. Tucking his thumbs into the waist of a pair of boxers (silver silk with red flames on the bottom hems), Grub bent over. The boxers came off in a lightning-fast flash, and Grub stood calmly, folding them and placing them atop his other clothes, whistling a jaunty tune.

Vein squeaked. His wings snapped into his body, not even enough room for a sheet of paper between the membranes and his back.

Grub shut his locker and spun the dial to protect the combination. Still whistling, he turned towards Vein.

Vein took a step back, trying to look up and into the elf's eyes. It was impossible. It was..._hypnotic_. Like it had some sort of...magnetism...or, given it's...attributes, it could have it's own gravitational field.

"Good luck with the Lili thing," Grub chirruped, double-clicking his tongue and shooting finger-guns at the sprite. Turning his back on both Retrieval officers, he strode off to the private showers. He continued to whistle all the way. Swaying in time to the tune.

When the Traffic elf was finally out of sight, Vein managed to switch his gaze to Trouble. And then he had to look back to where his brother had just been. And then back to the commander. "He...it...can't...but..."

"Hey," Trouble said with a dismissive shrug. "He's taller than me, too."

* * *

She didn't know what to say. It was getting late in the evening, and, even if he had helped her get several good nights of sleep in the past few days, Vinyáya still didn't have great stamina. She needed to get to bed, and she found that the idea of going alone actually scared her. She knew it was irrational. They were only dreams, and not always so bad as to make him come in and wake her. But she did not want to be alone, if it happened again, and that meant...well, asking him to join her. He had forced himself into the situation before, but, if things were to continue, she would eventually need to ask.

Vinyáya wished she could just pour out a nice cup of coffee and stay up for the extra few hours, until the decision to sleep was somehow made simultaneously, and they could drift into the back room. _They._

She just...couldn't. There was no way. Every time Vinyáya opened her mouth, her brain stopped functioning. How did one even broach that subject? _Hey, I'm exhausted. How about we go to bed and you never touch me. Ever. Or I will rip out your eyeballs and piss in the sockets._ Less than constructive.

Her eyes had begun to droop. Her head hurt. Her entire body felt sore. Wrong. Her skin itched and tingled and hungered.

Something large and white was shoved into her face.

Jerking back, Vinyáya brought a foot up and kicked the attacking whiteness.

Grub took a step away, letting out half his breath in a loud woosh, and recognized that he was supremely lucky to have possessed some padding. He generally knew better than to startle the Wing Commander, but he had been too excited. At least, this time, he would not be getting any bruises. Just some very, very dirty looks.

Recovering himself and trusting that his host was fully cognizant of her surroundings, Grub held out the white object once more. "I think it'll work!"

Vinyáya looked at the gift. Then up to Grub's face. "What, smothering me?"

Grub let the pillow drop down to his hips. "Why do people keep saying that? No! My plan!"

"..._What_ plan?" she rumbled, the little patience she had rapidly dissipating

Sensing his danger, Grub spoke in efficient, rapid bursts. "The pillow. I took it and switched it with the one in my room. And I wore the pillowcase at work." Holding out a hand and waving it, he barked, "I made sure it didn't get too dirty! I just had to get some scent on it!"

"Some..." Vinyaya trailed off, already lost. She couldn't blame herself; it is impossible to find a clear path in a mad, mad world.

"Scent," Grub repeated. "I realized that, the closer I got to you the last few nights, the easier it was to wake you up when you had a nightmare. I thought maybe knowing that someone was there helped calm you, subconsciously. So, maybe, if you could smell someone else while you slept, you'd think they were actually there, and it would stop the dreams, without me needing to...er...interfere."

"Inter...fere?" Vinyáya responded. She suddenly thought it was not the word that she would have used.

"I mean, we could switch pillows, to renew the scent!" Grub babbled, gesturing wildly. "It'll only be a few weeks, right? Just change every few days, so you keep scenting someone else, right? It solves everything!" He smiled generously, breathing extra-hard as he awaited her response. The idea had seemed perfectly reasonable in his head, but explaining it did highlight it's generally...stupid-as-fuck nature.

"Solves..." Vinyáya trailed off and found herself looking down at her new pillow. She felt an echoing tingle on her arm. "Solves...it..." She licked her lips. "I...guess it does."

* * *

She woke up in the middle of the night. No nightmare. No trembling. No fear. She was just instantly awake, and even her best meditation techniques could not clear her mind. There was one thought in it, and only one solution. Well, two, sort of. The first idea brought on the second, which was that she was going to murder Holly Short for tormenting her.

She didn't think, at this point in the pregnancy, that she could make her way to the office without rousing her tenant. So she reached for her bedside table, removing her cell from the wireless charging station and rooting about in the drawer until she found a set of headphones. She plugged these into the device and her ears, and did a quick search on the fairy nets: "Councilwoman Vinyáya."

The results, as always, were so numerous that the dynamic page had to constantly update as more were found. She clicked on the first result, which had a picture of Grub Kelp standing in a small cafe, his chair flying back, the other patrons shocked, and none more so than Hibiscus, who sat across from him.

The headline displayed immediately, and the video attached to it began a moment later. _KELPS CAUGHT IN FAMILY FEUD! WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR COUNCILWOMAN?_

In the little video box, Grub shot back from the table, screaming at his mother. The audio must have been enhanced, because she didn't even need the subtitles to clarify what was being said.

"_NO! _I don't...I don't have to do..._that!"_

"Grub, marrying her and raising the child is the right thing to do!"

"We _are_ raising the baby!"

"Then take the ring—"

"_I WILL NOT MARRY HER! I WILL NOT MARRY HER! I WILL NOT MARRY HER!"_

The video began to loop, and Vinyáya did not bother to check the length left on the file, to see if it would ever end, or if it had been programmed to stay on that phrase forever. She flicked at the page, making it digitally fly off the phone, closing the window and locking the declaration away.

Vinyáya looked at the blank screen, wondering if she should do another search. But she didn't need to. His words had been quite simple. Direct. Undeniable. And she had never expected him, or wanted him, to do anything different. After all, this entire situation was a mistake from the very beginning. No sense in making yet another.

She snapped the phone closed and tapped it against her lips. Short...really should have informed her about this earlier. Cirrus, too, despite her orders to cease his tabloid summarizing. Everyone in the Lower Elements had probably known about this since halfway through the day in which it was recorded. Everyone but her, who had wanted to ignore any writer that would dare pair her name with the man's.

Vinyáya replaced her cell on the charging dock and flopped back down on the bed. As her head impacted the pillow—Grub's pillow, up until a few hours ago—a strong, but not unpleasant scent filled the air. She was breathing in deeply before she could realize what she was doing. And it was just...good. Just like back in the baby's room.

She was sleeping on only one half of the bed, she realized. Normally—and especially when pregnancy had made getting comfortable just about impossible—she sprawled wherever she pleased. Yet, in just two nights, she had already begun to sequester herself to the left half of the bed. Even worse, she realized that, in thinking of this, her mind had not called the other side "the right."

Turning onto her side, so her stomach did not press against her spine, Vinyáya cautiously nuzzled her nose into the pillow. She knew, without a doubt, that he was right. There would be no more nightmares.

And no one left beside her.

* * *

**Preview: "****I can't give you what you want,/ and it's killing me./ And I, I'm starting to see/ maybe we're not meant to be."**

* * *

**It's been a **_**bitch**_** of a chapter. And I'm very worried about an important scene I had to cut. Because it's gotta go somewhere. Or all this dream shit is not going to make sense, even to the people that pay close attention to the books (or Google the names).**

** And, yes, I know I'm defying or stretching credulity in Colfer's storyline. But I'm not the one who cant' decide how to spell Miss Frond's first name. Or how long Vin has been in the force. So nyeh.**


	44. It's Never Enough

**So...the next chapter is done...and it's one that finally makes some of this stuff make sense. So, if you want it ASAP, I need enough reviews to maintain my average. Which means sixteen reviews. If you've not done previous chapters, you can go back and do them. I just ask for quality reviews. Plz?**

* * *

**Song: "Not Meant to Be" by Theory of a Deadman**

* * *

**Chapter 44: It's Never Enough**

**Week 38**

"The baby's still measuring small?" Grub queried, edging so close to the monitor that Vinyáya nearly had her stomach covered, though he managed to hover just a hair away from contact. ''What do we do?"

"First," Ginko said patiently, saving his measurements and adjusting his glasses, "you calm down. We are talking a half-centimeter below average."

"Yes," Grub returned, speaking slowly, making sure to have direct, unbreakable eye contact with the doctor. "So how do we _fix_ it?''

The obstetrician heaved a sigh, sharing a look with Vinyáya. Though they saw one another rarely, dealing with the captain was inspiring them to bond rather quickly. "We _don't_. Averages exist to be...average. Some babies will be above and some—like yours—will be below.''

''Hey," Grub protested, sitting up and alleviating some of the atmospheric pressure from Vinyáya's stomach as he thrust a finger at the doctor. "My baby is not below average!"

Captured between the bickering men, all Vinyáya could do was cross her arms and tap a foot, waiting for it all to end. She began to plot how she could torment her partner during his future medical appointments.

Of course, that was...assuming she'd...attend his appointments. _D'arvit._

"I still think you've got the birth day wrong," Grub was berating, gesturing at the doctor's tablet, where the pregnancy time line was displaying it's last month. "Like I said, my mother went past term, and if the baby is measuring small..."

"Wait," Vinyáya interrupted, sitting up, squishy gel on her stomach be damned. "Wait one second. Are you still suggesting...I'm going past nine months?"

"Er..." Grub said intelligently.

Ginko scooted his chair back.

"See," Vinyáya cajoled, leaning further forward so she could speak confidentially with the captain. "I'm having none of that. I was stupid about our...interactions. I did not protect myself fully, I accept that. But if I go even a_ day_ past due..." She began to play with a strand of her hair, wrapping it about her fingers. It's silky nature kept the silver from ever being caught, creating an endless, undulating pattern that almost instantly caught Grub's attention. She rather thought he had a little fetish for her hair. ''Well, that would be..._your_ fault," she concluded, swishing the loose ends a few inches under Grub's nose. ''All...your...fault."

Grub continued to stare at the wispy ends to the long tresses, but he had the wherewithal to swallow and nod.

"Good boy," Vinyáya gently praised, leaning back in her matronly throne. Perhaps Verres was right. He wasn't that bad an officer, if he took imminent danger so well.

* * *

"I...uh...heard Chix got his leave approved," Grub ventured from deep within his brother's couch cushions. He tried to lift his head to get a better look at the elder, but every time he shifted his head, the underside of his chin pressed against Shirley's collar. Which would have been fine on most cats, but she was both unmovable and sported a black collar with some rather sharp spikes. Trouble had, apparently, decided that if he was going to have the girliest looking cat in existence, he'd try to balance it out with some butch accessories. The effect, as it happened, was exactly the opposite as he'd intended. It was easily the cutest thing Grub had ever seen.

Trouble glared eloquently, but did not rise from his recliner.

"Yeah..." Grub held his drink closer to his chest, wary of a confiscation and subsequent conversion to hair product. "I mean, he has to take leave eventually, and you can't exactly send Holly and Lili off to Atlantis whenever he's gonna be in Haven."

Trouble's expression said that he had not had such a brilliant idea, and the huge inconvenience and strain on his budget might, in fact, be worth it.

"You can't," Grub mono-toned, and Trouble wilted in reluctant agreement.

Huffing at his elder's stupidity, Grub maneuvered around the kitten (who mewled piteously) until he opened his Traffic jacket—a brown pleather affair meant to keep his insides internal, in the small chance in hell he ever got on a bike again, but which also made him fit in better with his new unit—and took out a tube of paper tied up with what was more a ribbon explosion than a bow. A good decorator Grub may have been, but he had always been bad at knots, despite LEP training.

"Here," Grub said, tossing the tube. "If you need it, you'll be glad to have it."

Trouble caught the gift easily. Intrigued despite his depression, he slid the bow off and set it on the arm rest, where it sat looking like a radioactive spider. The kind that gives you massive neurological damage instead of super powers.

Once the paper was open and the cylinder inside revealed, Trouble chuckled deep and dark. "Well, well. Perfect nib, this brand," he praised, turning the felt-tip marker in his hands. "Never fails, even if the skin is all sweaty."

"And," Grub pointed out, grinning, "permanent."

Trouble had just popped off the cap and was about to write on the back of his hand, but was saved by the timely revelation. He seemed surprised at the feature, twisting the pen until he could read the label. "When did they start manufacturing permanent markers in this size? That's...excellent." His incisors flashed in the soft living room lights, and, despite knowing he was no longer a target of the commander's wrath, Grub felt parts of him retracting into his body.

"And the paper," Grub prompted, pointing at the tossed-aside wrapping paper until his brother obediently picked the scroll up and unfurled it.

Trouble's smile fled before rampaging shock. He blinked at the paper several times, tilting it 45 degrees in either direction before holding it in the correct orientation and merely angling his head. "Never knew you could draw" he commented neutrally.

"Think mostly sight drawing," Grub explained, earning a queasy look from the elder. "Just art book stuff! Got the positions and...er...expanded on them."

"Oh..." Trouble looked back to the drawing and chewed on the corner of his lips. After great deliberation, he rooted in a pocket, producing a mechanical pencil. "If you're going to 'expand' on things, might as well make this dwarf go...like this, and this one...all the way through, out the mouth...some shading...there!" Trouble held the modified drawing out for his brother to inspect.

Just as Trouble before him, Grub tilted his head as he took in the drawing. Finally, it seemed to click, and he blurted out, "Oh! Like an ouroboros!"

"Exactly!"

Grinning at the masterful adaptation of his work, Grub ventured, "So...just out of curiosity...what's Chix's favorite drink?"

Trouble grinned. He really liked his little brother.

* * *

The public transfer of power would be as close as the LEP got to a ceremony outside of promotions and funerals. The formal paper work was long done, and personnel duly debriefed. Cirrus was taking his mistress's leave as a chance for his first vacation in years. Lili was one dose of coffee in either direction away from cracking up, and already proclaiming that she was going to need the best weekend _ever_ to surrender herself to her new duties (and Chix Verbil, just down from E1 for the weekend, had volunteered his services quite publicly). Artemis was already making subtle threats to the Wings about staying on task and not burdening his mate. Given that he did all of the work on their shuttles and equipment, it wasn't a bad threat, if vague. Vague, though, was good. A genius Artemis may have been, but each individual soldier was far better at scaring the shit out of himself than Artemis was for the entire group.

There were a few final duties for the Wing Commander. Each branch of the LEP—excepting the intimately tied Recon-Retrieval sections—were mostly autonomous, but there were plenty of inter-office projects that required light guidance. Vinyáya had already conducted a video conference to Atlantis to speak with Commander Maelstrom of LEP Marine, as well as attending brief meetings with nearly all of the other Commanders. The final meeting was the one she anticipated as the least-pleasant: Commander Kelp.

The unpleasantness had nothing to do with her abuse of the man's younger brother. He seemed to somewhat approve of things as they were, now, though he had undoubtedly been icy during the first months of their cohabitation. Rather, it was his sudden and unaccustomed congeniality that unnerved her. Trouble Kelp was apparently greatly excited to be an uncle, and his feelings had extended beyond her general womb-region. She had consulted Duke about this unwelcome change, and the centaur had snorted and informed her that "in the family way" did not just refer to starting a new clan offshoot. It was also about being in the path that spanned between relatives to infants, from which there was no escape.

That bit of wisdom conveyed, Duke had whinnied and begun speaking gobbledygook to Vinyáya's stomach, at which point she decided it was best ignore him, as he was clearly insane.

Trouble had yet to address any comments to her tummy, thank Frond, but Vinyáya really wished he'd stay on topic.

''What do you mean you don't have the ultrasound pictures?" He stared like his coworker he had suddenly begun spitting up split-pea soup.

"I don't keep them on my phone," she answered neutrally. "Now, as I was saying, Lieutenant Huckleberry will be sending all the joint reports to—"

"Why not?" Trouble interrupted.

Vinyáya was sure he had not taken in a single word since the meeting began. She ran a finger from her hairline to the tip of her nose, breathing out as she did so. Frond help her, she was almost done; she did not need to go on Internal Affairs's radar for assaulting a fellow officer _right_ before she went off duty.

"I have better things to do with my work hours than get all doe-eyed over whether or not the child still resembles a lizard." And there had indeed been a short series of a ultrasounds that made Vinyáya wonder if she had unconsciously gone back to dating goblins around conception time...though she didn't bring up that little factoid with Grub. He probably would have had a heart attack. "Now, as I was saying, Lieutenant—"

"I wasn't expecting you to get distracted," he protested. "Just seems you might be a bit more...involved in things."

Her grip on the data tablet tightened, a rainbow distress signal going across the screen from the points of highest pressure. Vinyáya took some time to reduce the pressure, and waited until the screen had returned to normal before responding. "I am well aware of these things, Commander. It is_ inside_ me, you know."

"Well, yeah, but...I mean, I've been around plenty of pregnant women—"

"Oh, dear," Vinyáya murmured. ''And here I thought your brother was being original in his mistakes."

Trouble narrowed his eyes at the nearly off-duty Commander and had to take a deep breath. "Look, I am just saying, you've got me a little concerned. You don't do..._any_ of the things a normal pregnant woman does."

"Yes, well, I figure your brother evens thing out by taking just _stellar_ care of his bastard."

Vinyáya could have sworn she struck Trouble with all her strength. That or he channeled "Beet" Root for a moment, his face going maroon with far more blood than was healthy, his stylus snapping in half in his white-knuckled hands. She had just become genuinely alarmed when it all seemed to melt away, gone as fast as it had come. Trouble was left looking at his favorite stylus, poking the sparking ends together until he seemed resigned to their forever being left asunder, and he tossed the bits into his refuse chute to be whisked away for recycling.

Trouble used the excuse of searching in his desk for a new writing implement to keep his head down as he spoke. "I'd...he wouldn't see it that way."

"What?" she snorted, leaning back in her chair. "He thinks he should do more? Because I'd be happy if he could take care of the rest of the pregnancy, but that's about the only other thing he could do." Perhaps some women would have deemed such involvement praise-worthy, but praise as a general concept had gone out the window when she had to up her shoe size.

"No, I mean...he'd want...if he could..." Something about this woman could leave all Kelps tongue-tied, so he stopped there.

"Want _what? _...oh." She just needed a few extra seconds to understand. A little more time for the words to repeat in her head. Bastard. Wouldn't. More. Want. If.

She recalled a tiny media player, a chair crashing to the ground, a shocked crowd, and five words in subtitles.

"No. He wouldn't." Vinyáya pushed her chair back and began the arduous task of standing.

Trouble was at her side almost instantly, grabbing an elbow and helping Vinyáya up, failing to look offended when she slapped his hands away once she was stable. He just took a step away and insisted, "He would. It's just...complicated. You know that."

"I don't see what's so _complicated_ about it," she hissed, well aware that this argument made it sound like...as if she... And that wasn't what it should sound like. That wasn't what this feeling _was._

"Yes, it..." Trouble stopped his violent insistence, dragging a hand down his face. "Trust me. It is."

Vinyáya glared at the Commander, ready for another iteration in the childish back and forth they had going. Until she begun to wonder if the subject of their argument had subtly shifting without her noticing.

Trouble didn't seem so hesitant, but he looked at least ten times as...well, troubled as she. He tried to rally himself and star over, before shaking his head. "I...don't think I'm the one that's supposed to explain this, Vinyáya. You'll have to ask Grub why he didn't...ask."

"He doesn't have to _ask_ anything," Vinyáya snarled. She was not required by the LEP to take these kinds of...insinuations, so she snapped a salute, deciding that any Wing-Recon-Retrieval collaboration could be handled by Holly, or could just go die a miserable death in a hole somewhere. She turned before Trouble could process the closing formality.

"Tell him I thought you should know!'' Trouble called as she opened the door.

His words made her pause, but not speak.

Trouble continued to address the woman's back, much quieter, but no calmer. In fact, he seemed a hair away from stuttering like his brother. "When you ask. If he doesn't want to tell you. Tell him...I thought you should know."

Vinyáya looked out into the halls, where the LEP's finest were hurrying to and fro, ready to wrap up as much work as they could before taking off for the weekend. She would be leaving this, soon. Her domain. Only for a few weeks, but any time away would feel...wrong. When was the last time she'd had a real vacation? The last time the People were not her number one priority? And would this leave even change her priorities? Without the prospect of another overflowing in-tray, down to just a few Council duties—many of which Duke and Nicolai had already wrested away—what was she going to do with her day? Wonder...

_No. _"I don't care, Commander," Vinyáya rebuffed, slipping through the door and clicking it softly closed. Within minutes, she was meeting with Holly before the top members of her branch, again going over the ritual words to hand over power. She felt no different when it was over, and she was unsure if it was because she never felt she _could_ relinquish this power fully, or if she was merely exchanging one burden for another.

* * *

The weekend shut-down took about as long as Trouble had anticipated. That is, an hour and a half past the scheduled end of his shift. In the last fifteen minutes, he'd begun to inform tardy officers that they would be discussing their reports on Monday, _in private_, and ordered them to leave. At the beginning of his term as Commander, they might have protested, but now the officers merely slunk off, some heading to the small temple of Venus in East Haven to drop a coin and a prayer that their boss might have a particularly good shag that weekend. It was a far more effective plea than begging one of the gods for mercy.

Though, if they had known of his difficulties, perhaps these officers would have sent those mercy pleas, rather than wish lasciviousness his way. Trouble would have certainly advised it as he got back to his apartment. He wasn't planning on much company that night, except perhaps a visit from Misters Daniels, Morgan, and Walker.

Not everyone in Trouble's life had been appraised of his plans, however. After only being home long enough to nuke some leftovers and consider the liquor cabinet, he found his solitude broken by a knock at the door.

Trouble said very crotchety things (far more like an old man than a male elf in his prime) as he closed the cabinets and shambled his way to the door. He didn't bother checking the peephole before opening the door, sending out his fiercest glare.

"_Woah_," Lili yelped, taking a step back and tugging on Regal's leash so he followed. She needn't have bothered, as the pup had taken one look at Trouble's face before plastering his tail to his belly and darting behind Lili's legs, where he crouched low, ears laid flat. "_Excuse_ me! Who spat in your cricket curry?"

"Lili?" Trouble asked, anger melting away at the sight of his best friend, though it left his mind no less clouded.

"Uh...yeah," she said, as if the answer was obvious (which, to be fair, it was), tossing her hair and laying a hand on her hip. "I'm guessing you didn't get my texts, then?"

"Um..." Trouble looked behind himself, towards his bedroom, where his work jacket had been tossed—likely into the least-accessible corner—the second he got home. The cell was still in the pocket, probably sending up feeble beeps.

"Thought so," Lili tsked, shaking the looped end of the leash at him. "Holly would kill you if she found out, you know."

"Right. She...would." Trouble wondered if he had managed to black out some early drinking that evening. It might explain why his tongue felt so thick.

"Well? Go get it." Lili made shooing motions, which had no immediate result. "I'll set up the movie." Leaning down, she undid Regal's leash and snapped her tongue, again gesturing inside.

Regal looked up at Trouble. And then to his protectress, whining. His tail had detached itself from his stomach, but it was nowhere near the confident curve over his back that he normally boasted.

Trouble wanted to copy the posture, chastising himself for scaring the creature. Off-duty or not, he should have greeted a visitor far better. He was an officer of the law, after all, and menacing a potential stranger at a reasonable hour was poor form.

He smiled as best he could and jerked his head back. "Shirley is in the kitchen," he said in canine.

The tail began to lift up, drifting back and forth. "Friend?" He sniffed experimentally, then looked back up at Trouble, taking a step back. He opened his mouth in a panting, tooth-filled doggy grin.

"She just woke up," Trouble informed. "If you hurry, you could probably surprise her."

Regal's ears swiveled forward at the idea of a sneak attack. He tilted his head back to get the opinion of his adopted mother, receiving a rough but playful smack on the rear. It was permission enough, and he loped inside the apartment.

Moments later, a yowl and crash came from the kitchen, along with a triumphant yip. A white blur shot down the bedroom hallway, followed by another of white and red, barking all the way.

Lili watched, face softening as she looped the leash and stored it in her purse. "I swear, he never stops talking about that cat. It makes me feel _so_ bad whenever we have to go home."

Trouble didn't have the breath to speak, keeping him from pleading, _Then don't go._ Saved, he took a step back, sweeping a hand to invite Lili in.

She complied, but gave the commander a rather withering look. "_Phone._"

"Right, right," he agreed, closing the door and rushing back to his bedroom. No major emergencies to the People had occurred, or else Foaly would have hacked into his entertainment system once the call wasn't answered, but if Holly ever found out her boss had failed to keep an eye on the People, leaving her to take up a potential emergency when she was already overloaded with Section 8 and the Wings...horrors.

Pup and kitten had both managed to get on the bed, despite it being a tremendous feat for them both, at their current size. Regal had flipped Shirley onto her back, and both falsely menaced each other with open mouths, making half-advances before backing off, Regal yipping each time he retreated. His tail was now at full speed, despite the elf's arrival, and thumped loudly whenever he got close enough to the wall to get in a hit.

It took some digging for Trouble to find his cell, and there were an alarming number of unchecked messages waiting. Luckily, none were family emergencies (the proximity to the birth reminded Trouble how much of a bad move abandoning his phone was) or anything related to work. After skimming for anything else of import (responding to a text from Chix asking where he was with a spiteful "With Lili," which he hoped would shut the stupid sprite up for a while), he checked the princess's texts.

What she had sent wasn't unfamiliar. _Movie night. There in 30. Burgers?_ Almost invariably, when they did not have their own dates to attend to or a night out at the bars planned, they spent an evening on the couch, watching something fairly mindless and eating something completely nutrition-less. She brought the film, he ordered the eats.

This time, though, Trouble wondered if he'd be able to overcome his nerves for long enough to take a single bite. Because she was here. In his apartment. After being quite vocal about her need to unwind. Here with _him._ Not some cocky sprite or any of the other fairies she could have selected at random in one of the Haven bars. Lili needed to relax, and she came to _him._

He hadn't managed to get much past that by the time he left the pets to their wrestling and entered the living room. If he had been able to think beyond that point, the ability was lost when he saw Lili.

She was already settling in for the night, it seemed, stretched out on the couch, shoes off. Her plain black tee was becoming increasingly distant from her low-cut blue jeans every time she moved, and she was moving a lot as Trouble came in, wriggling to get comfortable. She had already availed herself of his fridge, it seemed, and was resting an open soda bottle on her stomach, directly over her belly button.

It was like a kick to the gut. Trouble recalled her intoxicated lounging of weeks ago, trying to keep himself from recalling what she had done directly after he discovered her. Despite his best efforts, an increase in blood flow informed Trouble that he was failing quite inconveniently.

He tried to keep from scrambling as he moved forward, tapping Lili's ankles until she raised her feet and she could sit. He placed a decorative pillow—being that he was a bachelor, it was more accurate to say that it was _the_ decorative pillow—on his lap. It was, of course, more to help himself than the woman, but she hummed approval as she lay her feet back down, the gesture somehow quite royal. Perhaps it was the air of entitlement about her as she reclined in that position.

"You order food, yet?" Lili asked, her eyes closed in bliss.

"Uh...no," Trouble confessed, flipping his phone open again and navigating to the website of their favorite burger joint, where he began to place their orders. Trouble didn't even need to ask what Lili would prefer: tarantula burger, extra-crispy legs, Swiss cheese, relish, extra ketchup, and clover. Not lettuce, not spinach, not sprouts. Clover. He actually had more difficulty in deciding what he wanted to eat, in the off chance his stomach would retire from the Atlantis Circus long enough for him to eat.

"So, uh...movie?" Trouble inquired, wishing he could strike all filler sounds from his vocabulary.

"_The Eighth's Return_," Lili said, referring to the People's recent release about Fowl and Short's rescue of the demon race. "You know...the director's cut." She waggled her eyebrows.

Trouble sent out their order and snapped his phone closed, giving Lili a puzzled look.

"Oh, come on!" She huffed at her friend's ignorance. "The _deleted scene?_ Budding romance? An..._unconventional_ healing technique?" Lili curled her toes in anticipation. "Oh, Holly was so _pissed_ when she heard about it...she never should have signed off on rights to use her likeness. I just _have_ to see this. Live vicariously through my boss."

"Vicariously?" Trouble repeated, alarmed. "What, do you have a thing for...?" He would die if she was secretly attracted to..._him._

"Hmmm? Oh!" Lili sat up, bringing her legs into a yoga position. She shook her head, hard, and barked out, "No! Not Artemis! I just meant...you know, a relationship that _isn't_ crap."

Trouble's heart leapt. Here was the perfect chance! He opened his mouth. "Well, we'd—"

"Especially when I'm taking a break from all that for a while," she finished.

"Be...huh?" Trouble was too confounded by the sudden declaration and casual tone to berate himself for more non-words. "Wait...huh?"

Lili rolled her eyes and made a rather disgusted sound. "Dammit...Trouble...I was worried you'd be confused. Because if _you_ don't get it, then no one else will, and maybe I _am_ insane—"

"No, no," Trouble protested, though he still wasn't sure what she was saying. He sat straighter, no longer needing the pillow, thanks to the confusion, but folding his hands attentively atop. "I think you just need to...er...tell me what you actually _mean_."

"I mean just that," Lili said. When Trouble did not break out with "oooooh!" for understanding, she grumbled something, and then went on. "It's just...Chix got me thinking, you know?"

"Generally, Chix and thinking are mutually exclusive concepts. So, no, I don't know."

"He got his leave and what did he do? He immediately calls me up, saying he knew I just _neeeeeeeded _to see him. And I was all, 'No, I don't _neeeeeeeded _to see you.' I mean, he was a terrible date, and a crap lay."

Trouble winced. Green skin on tender brown, sliding, taking what he—

He coughed. "Er...good to know. I still have no clue what you're talking about."

"It's...it's just...I mean, I like dating and guys, don't get me wrong. But, in the past two decades, I've been in a grand total of _one_ good relationship." She held up a finger to illustrate her singularity. "And...what else has gone on in my life?"

"You...got a promotion," Trouble offered, barely avoiding keeping it from sounding like a question.

"Yeah, but so has just about every other officer in my year. _And_ most of them have managed to get into at _least_ one stable relationship." She took a great fistful of hair and tugged. Her teeth sawed on her bottom lip as she thought. "Just...you know what they say. Look at all your failures, and the common denominator...is you."

"_Woah_," Trouble jumped in, shaking his head. "Now hold on. There is _nothing_ wrong with you. Lili, you're...amazing." He swallowed, hoping she hadn't noticed his tone, and also hoping she had, so the hiding would be over.

She didn't notice, and only laughed in a self-deprecating way that made Trouble's chest hurt. "I'm...just so _done_."

"Done?" Trouble could feel the bottom falling out of his life.

"With...struggling and hurting and trying _so hard_ to find that...that perfect guy that is going to make me happy." She looked up at her friend, holding a hand out in supplication. "Where _is_ he, Trouble? If someone like that exists, then why am I _waiting?_"

He tried to breath. To make a sound. To reach out and pull her into him, so she would know he was _here_. All along, _here_. She had to know he had never stopped _wanting_ her. There wasn't a straight male in Haven (excepting his brother, and also including some of the gay males, to be honest) that didn't want her. But he had _needed _Lili since the moment he set eyes on her. The only difference since that moment was how _much_ of her he needed. Because now it was everything. Body and sweat and little cries of completion, yes, but also gossip about her insane boss and how she always intentionally burned popcorn, even though he hated it that way, and being able to watch her eyes drift closed as she fell asleep.

"So...done," Lili repeated, flipping her hands in the air to display empty palms. "No more. For a while I figure I'll just...do whatever I want. Though Holly's right, I should start studying for my captain's exam. And maybe pick up a hobby. And Regal! Look at him!" She gestured at the kitchen.

The pup was in a tight spin, so fast you could only differentiate head from tail by the flash of teeth as they came within a hair of capturing the appendage. A few feet away, Shirley sat, watching and cleaning a paw, occasionally meowing, "Almost got it that time!" Then giving the feline approximation off an evil snicker.

"He's so _stupid_," Lili laughed. "And he's not going to be a puppy forever. He needs training. _Lots_ of training. There's just...so _much_ I could do with my life if I weren't out on some hunt for a man."

"I...get what you mean, yes," Trouble said, bringing his eyes back to Lili. She was slipping away. He couldn't...never. Not again. "But what if you do come across someone? Someone that...you just _knew_ cared about you. Someone who thinks...you're his whole world? Are you just going to say no?"

"I..." Lili met Trouble's eyes, and hesitated. She ran her tongue quickly over her dry lips, and the unconscious moistening almost destroyed him. She took some time to consider the idea, and each instant he almost did it. The desire to lean across the couch, keeping her in place by resting a hand on either side of her body as he met her lips with his own and whispered a few words—words friends never said to one another—was all-consuming.

Lili shrugged and looked away, towards the television, which was still off, but which she seemed to have suddenly decided was enormously interesting. "If a guy really wanted to be with me _so much_ that he couldn't wait a few years for me to get myself together..." She let out a long breath, chin lowering as she came to a conclusion. "Well, then he cares more about _being_ with me than he cares about...me." She didn't turn to Trouble, but her eyes flickered in his direction. "Right?"

"Lili, I..." Trouble paused. It hurt. So _much._ "...Yeah. Right. It's...not a bad idea." He wanted to curl up. Disappear. "But are you _sure_ this is what you want?"

"Yes," she declared with so little hesitation that he wanted to ask again, because surely she could not have thought before responding. He could reason things out. Hint. Silently beg.

"Then...good luck," Trouble said, almost too low to hear. He felt a sting in his eyes, and that was shock enough to bring him back to himself. He couldn't do that to her. A few years wasn't long, to a fairy. For a human it would be like saying it would be a few months. She did need this, he knew. Perhaps even more than he needed...her.

"Thanks," Lili laughed, smiling so that her nose scrunched up in that favorite way of his. "With my history, I'm gonna need it." She slapped her hands to the cushions between them and directed her words towards the kitchen. "Now, movie time. Regal!" She whistled shrilly.

He stopped moving his feet entirely, which resulted in his momentum being maintained minus steadying traction, until he careened sideways and smacked into the refrigerator. He recovered with typical canine swiftness, rampaging into the living room and taking a too-early flying leap at the couch. His chest hit the edge and he fell to the floor. Once he had gathered himself—if not his dignity, but that's something dogs don't really possess—he aimed and leapt again, taking the middle seat and facing forward, panting.

Shirley watched this and considered things. Then went back to licking a paw and running it behind her ears, opting to meander over when it suited her. Which was likely when the food arrived.

"That's my boooooy," Lili praised, her words garbled in semi-baby talk. She scratched Regal's ruff and rubbed his ears, giving his nose a swift kiss, escaping his muzzle just before his tongue came out to lick his nose. Turning to the TV and hand-gesturing it on, she proclaimed, "Let's do this!"

As the movie began to play, Trouble shot a dirty look at the dog that had come between himself and the princess.

Regal whimpered, tail thumping on the cushion. Tentatively, he lifted a paw until it rested on Trouble's thigh. His ears went back and he tilted his head up, eyes barely focusing on the elf; just little glances, and then away again, as if it was wrong to look.

Trouble tried to keep up his glare. In the face of literal puppy-dog eyes, it was impossible. Grumbling, he lay a hand on Regal's back and began to scratch hard, making the dog's tongue flop out in pleasure, a back leg lifting and waving weakly in the air, not quite scratching, but _so_ close.

Trouble wondered, with a little rise in what he had assumed was his thoroughly destroyed hopes, if Lili's moratorium would mean less time out and more evenings in, like this. After all, their pets _did_ like each other. He could easily argue for more frequent movie nights. It might even help him cope.

For a little while.

* * *

**Preview: "Now I'm, wondering why I've kept this bottled inside./ So I'm starting to regret not telling all of it to you./ So if I haven't yet, I've gotta let you know..."**

* * *

**There's a burger place near me that has clover as a topping. It's AWESOME.**

**New favorite song: "Bedroom Talk" by The Starting Line. Best if you're sort of not paying attention the first time you listen. Then WHAM, chorus.**

**Make sure to review, and the next chapter will arrive soon! And you get ANSWERS!**


	45. I'm Starting to Regret

**Big thank-you to HeadlessHoncho for going back and reviewing old chapters, so I could post soon. I was antsy.**

**Super-short chapter, but slated to be so. It deserves to be on its own. Although, as a bonus, there is...**

* * *

**Special behind-the-scenes footage!**

"Hmmm...hermaphrodite," Holly said, after much deliberation, at the same moment that Vinyáya walked by the living room entryway.

The Wing Commander had to pause at this word, looking in on the somewhat messy space to see Holly, Lili, and Juliet sharing the couch (only doable because two of the occupants were so small), and Grub sitting across the room on a travel chest, his knees brought up to his chest, arms around his legs as he rocked back and forth. She raised a brow and waited.

"_Super-bad_ cleft palate," Juliet offered, and the girls nodded contemplatively, murmuring amongst themselves.

Grub winced, burying his face in his legs.

"Stuck at work, misses the birth," Lili proclaimed, and her two companions let out "ooohs!" of approval.

Grub squeaked, shaking his head.

"What in the world are you doing?" Vinyáya finally asked, and the three women looked at her, somewhat guiltily, having failed to notice that they were being observed.

"Oh...uh...a game," Lili answered cagily, breaking eye contact.

Vinyáya tilted her head and looked to Holly.

The major was much braver, it seemed, and she gave her skittish secretary a disapproving look before addressing her secret boss. "Well, you're going to hit forty weeks, next chapter, and that's full-term. So we were coming up with things that could happen at the birth to send Grub off the deep end."

Vinyáya blinked and looked up at the male, who was shaking, as if withholding sobs. She scowled. "That is...terrible, you three. I'm truly ashamed of you."

Holly, shocked at the reprimand, looked at her feet, her companions no less ashamed of their behavior. "I...sorry, we didn't think you'd—"

"The kid is born with scales and he makes fireballs," Vinyáya snapped, continuing on her way before the gamers had enough time to recover and declare her the undeniable winner.

Grub began to sob. "_Noooooooo!_"

* * *

**Song: "Never Gonna Be Alone" by Nickleback**

* * *

**Chapter 45: I'm Starting to Regret**

**Week 39**

It prodded her from the back if her mind. What Trouble had said was almost inconsequential. Or would have been only two months prior. Now, though...it pressed. Somehow seemed to..._matter. _So, try as hard as she could to stop thinking about it, the idea just became more and more unavoidable. Why? After everything, _why? _Or, more accurately, why not?

Grub, of course, wasn't so aware of the inner workings of his ex-lover's mind. He went on in his normal blissful ignorance. If any thing, he was even more cheerful than usual. With the mother of his child removed from her stress-filled position, he had settled considerably. Of course, she would return to work soon after the birth—within a week, if she was to be believed, but that all depended on Dr. White and Dr. Ginko—but then it would be without the burden of a ponderously large belly. He'd decided to just let the idea go, as he could not convince her otherwise. Vinyáya was undoubtedly a career woman, and he held out no hopes that she would undergo some sort of magical maternal transformation in the delivery room.

He was happy. She was perplexed. And, one quiet evening, it all came to a head.

He was bustling about after dinner, removing their plates from the table—they had finally got to the point of sharing occasional awkward semi-silent meals—when she just blurted it out.

"Why didn't you do it?"

Grub, in the middle of picking up a saucer, blinked across at her. "Do...what?" He glanced down at the setting, as if it had betrayed him. "Did I forget the sugar?"

"No," she huffed, temper already smoldering at the short end. ''No, I mean...this." She gestured about the kitchen, taking in the counters, which were shining clean, despite all of the gourmet cooking that had just taken place. The glowing quality of the copper pans hanging from the ceiling. The living room, which, despite the nightly tornado she caused, now looked relatively clean. And, down the hall, the nursery, which he had stopped guarding, and was now slowly stocking with toys, diapers, clothes and other necessaries.

"I...wanted to," he finally managed, still holding the little plate. "Is...is that okay?"

''No!" Vinyáya shouted. "I mean, yes, but...it makes no sense!"

Apparently, neither did she, as Grab tilted his head sideways. "Um...huh?"

Quite uncharacteristically, Vinyáya began to rant. ''You move in here and do all of this and just...put _up _with me, and I don't _get it._" She took a deep breath, flopping her hands palm-up on the table. "No man would do that and not...'' She swallowed, noting the widening of his eyes. She had to say this bluntly. Make sure there was no way he could misunderstand.

"Why didn't you do the logical thing? What a lot of men that stick around do." She had to swallow, and it hurt when she did so. As if she had just been crying, but she _hadn't_. Vinyáya had not cried in a way that could cause her such pain since...well, years. "Why...didn't you just..." She closed her eyes, hoping not seeing him would make this easier, and just blurted it out. "Why didn't you say we should get married? For the baby?"

His mouth was still open by the end she slit an eye open, creaks emitting from his vocal cords. He again looked down on his the little plate he held. His hand began to shake, and the tiny spoon resting atop the saucer clattered. For a moment, Vinyáya thought the sound came from the man himself and he would fall apart. Like a porcelain figurine.

Then he breathed deeply, putting the plates down before they were dropped, using his pinky to cradle the bottom so it barely made a sound. With free hands, he began to back away from the table.

"I...I'm sorry, but I don't...I-I can't." He seemed driven to say something more, but held back.

While she might have accepted his reluctance, Vinyáya could not simply let go of the conversation as he had. It had taken all of her not-inconsiderable courage to undertake the opening of the subject. To say that dreaded word: _married._ To _him. _Sure, she could just use her clearance to open the full records of the Kelps and find the source of his objection. She had never felt the need to investigate him so, but no one but perhaps Foaly and Fowl would know if she did, and only if she was clumsy about covering her tracks. Yet...she found herself loath to do so. Not merely for the intrusion, but also because she found she wanted this man to _tell _her the reason. Not get it from some unfeeling computer screen.

And he was retreating quickly. Leaving her to wonder, when she desperately needed to know. Vinyáya knew she would never have the fortitude to ask again, if he did manage to escape her inquiry. Even now, it was a shock that she had succeeded once. _Now_. There was no other option.

Trouble had suggested the talk. His last words had implied that perhaps he saw his brother's reaction coming. So she decided to follow a fellow-commander's orders, looking Grub in his light brown eyes as she spoke. "Trouble...said I should ask." It sounded weak to her; appealing to an absent officer for help. Whether it was or not, she certainly got a reaction.

Grub instantly took another step back, watching her warily. However, he took no step further, the need to flee transferring to a full-body tension that managed to come out in small twitches in his jaw and arms. "He...yes, of course he must have," Grub cursed, with far more bitterness than she had ever heard from the generally snide officer. "He can't fix his own problems, so he needs to meddle in my life."

He seemed, once again, ready to leave. She was about to say something more when Grub paused...and then sighed. He pulled out his seat and rejoined Vinyáya at the table, bringing his hands together, fisted as if in desperate prayer, resting his mouth against them so that his lips were hidden. His gaze almost burned through the glass table.

She put up with his silence for some time, knowing that the eventual reveal might be something she'd rather not know. Already, she wanted it to be over, though she didn't consider leaving before she got an answer. She simply hoped he would make it quick, and they could agree to never mention this night again. As they seemed to have already decided to forget so many other mistakes between them in the past few months.

When he'd nearly worked Vinyáya into a small panic, Grub took a deep breath and met her eyes. He held the breath until his face began to go red, and then he let it explode out, along with the words:

"Trouble was an accident."

At first, she didn't understand. Grub hated conflict, so of course any he came across was unintentional. Then understanding came up on her in a rush, with Grub still talking, keeping her from having any time to recover. Suddenly, Commander Kelp's reaction the previous week made sense. She had said his future nephew was...and to his _face._

"My parents met at the ceremonies for my father's promotion to captain. She had just made her social debut, but the Brenner's weren't very well-known in society. Not rich or anything. A high-ranking officer in the force was considered a good match. He was going through ranks fast—he'd already begun preparing for the tests to qualify as a major—so my grandparents arranged a trial courtship."

She couldn't help but be astonished by the formality. Her own mother had sent the then-Captain Vinyáya on a few arranged meetings, which she had rebelled against quite spectacularly (matchmakers quickly began to hang up on Mrs. Vinyáya, and the lectures Arnica got from her mother were entirely worth the look on the men's faces when she was done), but the practice had all but died out by the time the last generation was pairing off.

"It went...well," Grub went on. Then he winced, faintly disturbed as he added, "_Very_ well. My parents...spent a few nights together, but shortly afterward realized they weren't suited to one another and agreed to end the courtship."

She was biting at the corner of her lip, knowing what must be coming.

"A month later, my mother realized she was pregnant.

"She went to see my father, intending to ask for...help." He licked his lips, trying to find another way to say it without speaking the the one word he didn't want to lay between them. A word he'd been terrified of when this all had begun.

"For money," Vinyáya whispered in understanding, also finding herself somehow unable to utter the forbidden word.

Slowly, he nodded. "They met at a mall for neutral ground, and my father asked her to wait in front of a store for a minute, right after she told him. She thought he was running away, or getting the cash out to cover the...procedure.

"When he came back, Dad dropped to one knee, took the ring he'd just bought from his pocket, and proposed." Grub smiled, as if it were his own memory, and one that a person could feel joy over, instead of embarrassment or shame.

"I'm assuming she said yes?"

"Well...after a few days, actually. They had parted, after all, so she knew Manfred wasn't what she was looking for in a husband. And the...the abortion," he shook his head, as if uttering the word was like taking a shot to the temple, "would have been a secret from everyone but themselves and the doctors. But...well, it was a good match socially, like I said. So she said yes, they eloped in Atlantis, and Trouble was, luckily born a week late, so they just claimed he was conceived on the wedding night."

"And people actually believed that?" Vinyáya asked incredulously.

Grub laughed briefly. "Probably not. My grandfather never warmed up to my father, but he took his suspicions to the recycling vats, at least. His daughter was married off without too much scandal, so he couldn't make a scene without making things worse for his family name. Which wasn't all that well-known to begin with.

"I doubt my parents ever fooled themselves about their motives in getting married, but...they _adored_ Trouble. They were wild about him. So when my mother could conceive again, they decided...what the hell, ya know?"

"What the hell?'' Vinyáya repeated, in a quite different tone. She couldn't fathom it. So she had undertaken a ten year affair with someone she had only just recently begun to refer to by first name, and a kid was getting involved, despite both of their wishes. But _just_ one. She wasn't going to make this mistake again. It was cruel enough to do once, but twice?

"My parents loved me just as much, don't get me wrong. I think they just...realized having more kids to love wasn't going to make them like _each other_ any more. They stuck together until I was five, and then that was it." He shrugged. "Mom got primary custody and child support. Dad had weekend custody.

"He saw us a lot more often than that, though. Mom and Dad didn't love each other, but they became pretty good friends, once the marriage was over." Shaking his head, Grub said, "They probably could have had a great marriage if they'd just forgot they were_ together._"

Vinyáya felt no need to rationalize the man out of his beliefs, as the small smile he'd faked disappeared swiftly.

Grub was speaking softly, now, though still steadily. The normally overwhelming emotions of an elf were being carefully monitored, so none of his words cracked from lost control. It was a phenomenal effort, and Vinyáya began to wonder if he'd ever practiced saying these words to her. They came out so well. No going back and forth in time, or repeating himself. She could just imagine him laying in bed and revising his speech every night, waiting for the chance to finally tell her all about his family and his motivations.

"Dad never let on, but with the child support and having to keep up a two bedroom apartment so we had a place to stay on weekends, all on a major's salary, there wasn't much to spare. But if we ever needed anything, he made sure we had it. He was at every school event, despite his Retrieval schedule. He'd even put aside two years of college tuition by the time..."

Vinyáya had to look away as Grub finally needed to stop and grit his teeth against the memories. She would have stood up and thanked him for his explanation—his parents had divorced, and he thought they would end the same way—but his next words came soon enough, preventing her from doing so.

"He died in action when I was fifteen. Trouble was thirty-six. Mom had to go back to work after that, and it took a while for things to get settled. But Trouble and I would have done _anything_ necessary to go on to college like Dad planned. And I don't think either of us ever considered any job but the LEP."

"So you followed in his footsteps," Vinyáya concluded, only after the words were out considering the full measure to which he had done so. She wanted to take it back and find some more diplomatic way to say he had honored his father's hopes for his sons, but nothing would come out to correct the mistake.

Grub was duly chagrined, looking at his hands. They played loosely together as he licked his lips to prepare the way for new words. "My father...was a good man, but he was not perfect. I know that. I didn't want...I never intended..." His jaw worked on the conclusion to the thought until the captain exploded with, "Oh, d'arvit!"

Reaching across the table, Grub grasped Vinyáya's hand so hard that she would not have been able to wrench away if she tried. But she did not. She just let her hand lay on the table between them until the man seemed to control himself and he allowed his grip to loosen slightly.

Even then, she did not pull her hand away, but neither did Vinyáya squeeze back. She merely looked across at the young elf that she had practically destroyed in the last seven and a half months, not to mention the ten years prior. She waited patiently for him to finish, even as she needed him to say it quickly. She did not know how much more of this she could take.

"I never wanted things to be this way, Vinyáya." He was whispering, never flinching from her eyes. "But I am _here_. I will _stay_ here as long as you let me. But...if one day you tell me to go...I'll respect that and go." He smiled minutely, eyes softening even further, which she had not thought possible. "And if you ask me to come back, I will be here in a _second_. No hesitation. No questions. I...I'm always going to...want to...be with you."

For the last time that night, Grub's words almost failed him. Vinyáya thought he would be forced to stop, leaving her to cope with this almost...blatant confession. What could she say, when the subject had been avoided for so long and she was the one to actually bring it up?

And then, with another squeeze to her hand, which gave away how violently he trembled, Grub finished. "But I didn't ask you to marry me because...I know you don't love me. And I'm not going to repeat the mistakes of my father."

He did not leave her quickly. In fact, the silence that had seeped between them had enough time to go past oppressive and into some measure of normality. Then Grub ran his free hand over the back of Vinyáya's. Once. Twice. So slow and gentle that it seemed she couldn't ignore the tenderness in what he was doing. She would need to pull away.

And then he let go. He picked up the last of the plates and took them to the sink, depositing them, but not bothering to wash. Empty of words, he simply left Vinyáya sitting at the table, going down the hall and to his room, where he closed the door and was heard from no more that night.

Only when she was somehow sure that he would not return did Vinyáya reach out and use her untouched hand to cover the other.

It was still warm, but when she tried to stroke her own hand it was...it didn't feel...

Vinyáya closed her eyes and wished with all her being that she had never worked up the courage to ask that stupid..._stupid_ question.

* * *

**Preview: "****So take me as I am./ This may mean you'll have to be a stronger man./ Rest assured that when I start to make you nervous/ and I'm going to extremes,/ tomorrow I will change/ and today won't mean a thing."**

* * *

**This chapter has been the one I've anticipated the most. I've rehearsed Grub's speech countless times. So I'd really love to hear from you all. Please review and tell me what you think.**


	46. Tomorrow, I Will Change

**Okay...voting for **_**The Perfect Gift**_** contest seems to have failed most spectacularly. So we're going to do it like the old **_**The Big Reveal**_** contest. Look at the following list of fanfics, and PM me your vote for: ****Most romantic story, most heartwarming story (Different from romantic, in that the heartwarming category does not imply romance. Think family and friend gifts.), cleverest gift, funniest story, best overall.**

"**Artemis Fowl KCC: The Ring" by Emile the Watcher  
"Koboi's Christmas" by RAHBooks  
"Decking the Halls" by Tirajm  
"A Present for You, and for You" by rupzydaisy  
"Do Human and Pixie Souls Have the Same Shape" by Mathias van der Hoven  
"My Secret Santa" by SEAubrey  
"Minor Moments" by Forever Day (Note: Multi-part entry. Voting will be held on the Minerva story, the Mulch and Doodah story, and the Cupid story. Pick one of the three.)  
"Holidays" by ivyflightislistening  
"The Things We Cherish" by CieloCrimisi  
"I'll say hey, you'll say" by Ru-Doragon  
"Tinsel AND Kidnap! How Lucky is Artemis?" by HolidayBoredom**

****** Send by PRIVATE MESSAGE, not review! **Make sure _**all**_** votes are in by February 15****th****!**

**In the meantime, we go...**

* * *

**Behind-the-scenes!**

Grub and Artemis had long-ago learned that giggling women were secretly (or even openly) possessed by Satan. Satan at the _very_ least. So they had the good sense to remain in the temporary office (also known as the bedroom) as Kit worked on the next chapter.

Trouble was either too stupid or too cocky to follow suit. He sauntered out of the bedroom in search of a soda from the living room wet bar.

The second he was in sight of Lili, Holly, and Vinyáya, the trio's attention fastened to him, like he was the opposite polarity of magnet. They took on identical grins.

"Um...afternoon, ladies," Trouble mumbled, fetching a drink. It had only taken him a second to register the diabolical vibe coming off the women. He made for the bedroom again, but was arrested by Lili's sonorous voice.

"Trouble...you never told me about your college _acting_ career."

Trouble dropped the soda, narrowly missing the black cat that had been wrapping about his legs in an attempt to trip him, and spun around. "C-college..." He looked at the computer on Holly's lap and groaned. "Oh...no...no no no..."

"It's not _that_ bad," Vinyáya crooned, looking between the Commander and his image on the screen. "Though I never thought you'd go for...supporting male." She leered, and the other two women giggled.

"I...I mean..." Trouble grabbed the base of his ponytail, gesturing about wildly. "Look, it was college! I needed the money! And...I mean, they offered me three times as much to star with another man, instead of a woman! It was just one time! It doesn't mean _anything!_"

Lili blinked. She looked down at the screen. Then at Trouble. Then to Holly, mouth open. "He...is...means...?"

Holly, smile gone, replaced by drawn brows, wide eyes, and a definite shift in her posture away from the male, turned the computer around and hit the space bar to play the video.

"Why don't you come with me and the boys," the red-haired, bare-chested, winged creature on the screen said to the wingless blond male he had just slammed into a veritable wall of a minion. "We'll give you a taste of _real_ Ferngully wildlife. Unless, of course, you're not up to it..._Zack_."

Trouble stared at the screen.

"Oh!" He barked, letting his hair go, hand going up in a gesture of sudden understanding. "That! Hah! Yeah. Stupid movie. Paid tuition, though! Hey, gotta go, Kit says there's a new scene she came up with for me. Taa!" He turned and darted for the bedroom, foot landing on the soda can and rolling him into the linen cabinets, which he peeled himself off of and dived into the room, slamming the door.

Lili continued to gape at Holly. "He...paid...three times?"

Holly smiled grimly and reached out to pat Lili's head. "Want Foaly to mindwipe you?"

The secretary nodded, tears in her eyes. "Yes, please."

* * *

**Before anyone asks, the movie (and the...other movie...) thing is not canon (well...behind-the-scenes it is), but I saw Pips of Ferngully again recently and suddenly got a good idea where part of Trouble's personality originated. The video can be found on YouTube, title "Real Ferngully Wildlife." That...is college-age Trouble for me, now.**

* * *

**Chapter 46: Tomorrow, I Will Change**

**Week 40**

**Sunday**

There was always some cultural dissonance between Grub and Vinyáya, on account of the roughly five hundred years between their ages. Songs he considered absolutely archaic were among her favorite tunes. So he could at least recognize the notes the commander was humming as she came from down the hall in the morning, bath towel draped over her shoulders as she set off to prepare for the day, though he would have been unable to name the original artist.

Her smile was radiant, to match the general glow of her entire body, distracting Grub so much that he dropped the spatula he had been using to scrape the last bits of muffin batter into the tin.

Vinyáya paused her bouncing steps, looking into the kitchen and amplifying her smile by at least twenty more degrees. "Good morning, Grub!"

Grub, halfway down to retrieve his utensil, now dropped the bowl. It splattered dehydrated blueberries across the tile, the stainless steel ringing for what seemed like an eternity afterward.

"Good...good morning, Vinyáya," Grub finally returned, reaching slowly for the bowl and spatula. His hands moved about randomly, eyes stuck on the woman, who was still beaming, despite the mess. "You're...cheerful today." He slightly emphasized the "cheerful," as a word he had never thought to apply to the consistently overworked woman.

"Yep!" She chirruped, rocking up to the tips of her toes and grunting in pleasure at the stretch. "It's time!"

"Time" Grub repeated, finally gathering all dropped items (excepting the spray of batter and berries, which would require mopping) and rising, reaching behind his body to toss them into the sink, not wanting to turn his eyes away from the woman. "Time for what?"

She laughed..._no_...she...she _giggled_. Vinyáya _giggled_. She spun about, grabbing the ends of the towel and wrapping her arms about her body, giving herself a terrycloth hug. "I'm at term! This is all almost over!" Shifting the towel so there was a few inches of slack at one end, she turned towards the living room, and its door to the backyard and bathing pond. "I can't _wait!_"

Grub watched her as she disappeared around the corner. He leaned sideways, trying to get her back into view and, when she failed to appear, he shouted, "You do know there's going to be a _baby_ afterward, right?"

As a response, the door to the yard opened and closed, finally cutting off her golden-oldie humming.

Grub continued staring at the last place he had seen the woman. He shook his head. Slowly.

_Giggles?_ Dear gods. Vinyáya had finally lost her fucking mind.

* * *

**Monday**

Two more days of work. That was all. Two more days of work, jumping at every little appearance in the office and every call into the precinct. Each interruption made him pause, waiting for the perpetrator to look at him and shake their head or wave him off. The officers had begun to do so automatically, after the first hour into his shift. When they hadn't, he would wait ten seconds, then abandon his work and walk over to ask if it was the Wing Commander. No matter that, if it was her, he'd probably get a direct call, or one from Verres or Trouble, if indirect. To him, news of Vinyáya—spending the day with Duke Fleetwind instead of home alone—could come from anywhere, and he had to be ready at a moment's notice to rush to her side.

"Look, I know this isn't important to _you_," the pixie sitting across from Grub's desk squeaked, demanding attention, "but it's important to me! You've got to fix this, Captain!"

Grub blinked, having been staring intently at a female officer who finally shook her head in his direction, bringing on a crushing disappointment. Turning his head back forward, he looked at the pixie and dwarf that watched him. The pixie was dressed in a subdued but professional manner—gray slacks and a white button-up shirt with an almost-banished mustard stain about his belly-button—while the dwarf hurt the eyes with his old digging pants, brown floor-brushing trench coat, and frayed fedora. The pixie was wringing his hands and shifting in his seat, unable to stay still, but the dwarf leaned back off the front legs of his chair, making the entire thing creak ominously.

"Mr Day, I'm really not sure what I _can_ do. The judge sentenced you to a week at Haven Minimum Security. Which is entirely reasonable, given the charges."

"But I need to be in Haven _Maximum_," Doodah Day whined, jerking his body so his chair screeched forward. "Everyone knows that! This judge is the first one to not cooperate! It's...it's not _fair!_"

Grub closed his eyes, praying for patience before he looked back down again at his screen. "Mr. Day. I am aware that your..._situation_ is highly difficult, but you have to understand that there are people in the system that think you are just encouraging other criminals by jumping in and out of jail like this. I mean, you're running out of misdemeanors! At this rate, you'll have an even longer rap sheet than your partner!"

Mulch Diggums finally took notice of this, leaning forward so his chair fell back to all fours with a bang like a gun going off. "Now wait one second! There's no way he's getting anywhere near that many convictions! _I_ committed felonies, too!" His chest puffed in pride at the convictions he'd accumulated. He always won at Ex-Con Bingo night. And Ten Fingers.

Grub groaned, massaging his forehead. "I was being..._sarcastic,_ Mr. Diggums. I merely mean that Mr. Day should not be shocked at this change in his treatment. At some point, some judge had to either send you to the minimum security prison or the Deeps. Be thankful it's the first option, after all the crimes you've committed. All _very_ premeditated, I remind you."

"Well, _duh_," Doodah snapped, rolling his eyes. "I wouldn't _need_ to premeditate if the prisons would give us visitation rights!"

"And, as I said when you came in here, you'd be more likely to get visitation if every judge and officer in the Lower Elements didn't know you were going on bi-monthly crime sprees so you could go see one of Koboi's—"

_Brrrrring!_

Grub's words were lost in a oral stumble, coming out to something like, "Flu-muh-ngh-laaaaaa..." He stared at his phone, waiting for the display to light up and give him the caller ID.

It did. _Viny__á__ya—cell._

He dived onto the desk in his haste to get at the receiver, picking it up and dropping it down again as his fingers spasmed, though luckily not back onto the cradle. He tried to get a good hold on the handset, and it kept flipping about in his hands whenever he got it within ten inches of his ear.

Mulch watched the display for a few seconds, grinning, enjoying the distress of an officer of the law. Eventually, though, he took pity on the elf—or perhaps decided this might be an opportunity to score brownie points that his work partner might be able to redeem—and leaned over to press the speakerphone button on the desk unit.

Grub dropped the handset when the speaker crackled to life, his fingers digging into the desk as he leaned over to bark into the microphone. "Vinyáya, I'm here! What is it? Are you in labor? How far apart are the contractions! I'll be right there!" He almost ripped his jacket as he pulled it off the back of the chair and shrugged it on, looking left and right, then doing a full, quick spin as he looked for his keys.

"I'm not sure," Vinyáya said from the other end of the line. She most definitely sounded excited, and there was a rapid clop of hooves and shrill whinnies in the background. "Duke doesn't think so, but I feel funny. Like...pressure. Do you know what that is?"

"No clue," Grub yipped, opening each drawer and slamming it shut when he failed to find his key. "D'arvit, d'arvit, d'arvit! Have you called the doctor?"

"Not yet. I was waiting for...oh, gods," Vinyáya ended in a whisper.

Grub froze, staring at the speaker. "V...Vinyáya?" When she didn't respond, he jumped towards it, as if he could become closer to the woman through the telephone line. "What is it! Tell me!"

"I...I think I'm..."

A loud noise came through the phone line. Somehow, it sounded like a small explosion.

Mulch's brows show up in recognition.

"...Nevermind," Vinyáya snapped, and the line went dead.

Grub stared at the phone, turning a decided verdure.

Mulch snickered at the man's horror. "I think the little lady just confused a contraction with a f—"

"Noshedidn't," Grub broke in, retrieving the handset and slamming it down, as if that could end this conversation, as well as the former.

"No, I'm pretty sure she did," Mulch insisted, rubbing at his beard and grinning. "Believe me. I'm a dwarf. We know these things."

"You're wrong," Grub snarled, grabbing the base of his computer monitor, pulling it closer, so he could place it between himself and the digger, like a shield. "Doodah, I'll see what my boss can do, but, barring that, you'll need to commit some other crime before surrendering yourself to the court, if you want to go into Maximum."

Doodah considered his mental list of malfeasance. He shrugged and stood. "I guess I could manage something. But you'll work on it?"

"Yeah, yeah," Grub affirmed, waving at the pair to banish them from his office, trying to ignore the fact that he'd just encouraged a crime spree. Doodah's infractions rarely caused anyone any harm, except maybe some wasted time. "Now leave me to it. I'm off after tomorrow, and I can't do anything if you're in here bothering me."

The private detectives rose and said quick goodbyes—made quicker by Doodah's nervous insistence, not wanting to lose his ally—making for the door.

A second before it closed behind them, Mulch paused and turned, catching it with his foot and sticking his head inside. He smiled at the elf, displaying some very sharp and rather stained teeth. The odd hours of detective work and the coffee they required had significantly yellowed his greatest asset. "She totally did," he said, and then grabbed the door handle, slamming it closed behind.

Grub groaned, thumping his head onto the table. "I know," he moaned, shifting his head back and forth against the fake wood surface. "I knooooooow..."

* * *

**Tuesday**

When Grub came home on Tuesday night, it was like the barrel of a gun had been taken away from his temple. The last two days had been unavoidable. Verres had been almost mortified when he told the officer that he would have to work a few days into the fortieth week of the pregnancy. Grub whined and bitched and begged for a good half-hour before Verres pulled up the schedule for the week and pointed out all the officers on medical leave after an unexpected showdown with some overconfident, but also well-armed goblins. Grub had studied it, flipped hours around, called Fowl for a logic assessment, been told to suck it up, and finally relented.

Tuesday's stress was much like Monday's, only doubled. After lunch, he was little more than a body in a chair, there in case an emergency arose and he would be called upon for support. Not that he could have given any, of course. In the last hour of work, the rest of the office had begun asking one another if they should give him enough liquor to make him pass out and chip in for his taxi ride home. The only reason they didn't was that he took one sip of the first spiked drink they offered and subsequently ran to the bathroom to throw up.

Verres eventually had mercy and dismissed his neurotic subordinate, and then spent a few seconds staring at the after-image left as Grub ran for home at roughly two-point-three-seven times the speed of light.

The captain sprinted all the way to the edge of downtown Haven, where he caught a cab, which was able to maneuver without the impediment of traffic that the downtown area provided. Once he was inside, Traffic laws and his supervisor's disapproval be _damned_, he'd screamed for the cabbie to "step on it!"

The cabbie had looked over his shoulder, took in the cop's uniform, told him to sit down and/or shut up, and drove off at a legal speed. If Grub had remained quiet, he would have at least warranted a little standard speeding, but he'd doomed himself.

Grub spent the next fifteen minutes biting his nails, constantly looking at his phone, resisting the urge to dial the house. Duke was in attendance, again, and he was certain the fire chief had been around enough birthing women to keep his head and dial the father if labor pains began.

The house was silent as Grub rolled up. He tossed far too many bills at the driver and dove out of the back like he was in an action movie and the sedan was about to explode. It didn't, of course, and the driver calmly took out his cell phone and snapped a picture of the captain, which he subsequently sold to the tabloids for about a month's wages. Whistling a cheery tune, he drove off.

Grub hurried up the walk and was a millisecond from knocking on the front door when it was wrenched open and his fist impacted twice with the rock-hard, bare chest of Haven's fire chief.

Duke looked down at the captain, then back into the house—almost all light absent, but for a faint glow from the living room—and then back to the captain again. He lay a hand on Grub's shoulder and leaned down to address him more directly.

"Baby-daddy...you fucked."

Then he went past Grub—almost melting about him, despite his Clydesdale bulk—and galloped off down the street, overtaking the cab before he had even come to the first stop sign.

Grub watched the centaur go and knew, in his heart of hearts, that Duke was right. He was screwed.

Saying the People's version of final prayers, Grub walked through the front door, not even bothering to drop off his messenger bag as he headed down the hall and reached the large living room entryway, where he turned and looked inside, braced for impact.

Vinyáya sat in the recliner, facing the TV, which put her back towards Grub, her bulk hidden by the chair. He knew she must be in that spot, as a cord ran from under the entertainment center to the seat—a sure sign she had been at her gaming for hours, depleting the long-life battery of the controller. The dim light he had seen before was now given it's source: just the television, with a display featuring a buxom demoness wielding a sledgehammer through a mass of the undead. Grub wasn't familiar with all of Vinyáya's favorite games, but he was _pretty_ certain they should not have featured zombies wailing for mercy, only to have their genitals crushed, followed by their heads. Sometimes just the heads. If they were female.

Grub took a step back.

Under his foot, the faux-wood flooring groaned.

The game did not pause. The lamentations went on. Undead testicles ruptured with a sound like a dull ax hitting the trunk of a long-dead tree.

There was no angle of light that could explain why the eyes that appeared from around the side of the chair should glow so. And they glowed yellow, despite normally being a flat gray. And they glowed bright and hungry, the mouth below opening and curving into a bright, sharp-toothed smile. And they _glowed_.

On the television screen, the legions of the damned fell, clutching their nethers, the demoness never losing the accuracy of her swings.

"I'llcallinforChinese,stayinginmyroom,lotsofworktodo,goodluckwththegame,BYE!"

Grub careened down the hall and into his bedroom, slamming the door and locking it. He grabbed the dresser and hauled it to the door, pressing it up close and leaning against it, a hand to his chest, the other to his genitals, trying to comfort the poor, terrified things as best he could.

* * *

**Wednesday**

"You," Vinyáya said in the tone she used with her newest subordinates; those who thought the rumors about the Wing Commander might not be entirely true, and she wasn't exactly as ruthless others described. The foolish ones, in other words. "You. Out. Now. Time's up." She waited, eyes narrowing, concentrating on her body, seeking out any pain. None came, and she poked her belly button, which popped back out immedietly. "Do you hear me? That's an order!"

Grub, summoned from his cleanup in the kitchen by her insane rants, leaned against the doorway and considered the soon-to-be mother. "You know, all the books say the baby can hear you, but I highly doubt it understands Gnommish. It doesn't even have magic, yet. No Gift of Tongues until the first Ritual, remember?"

Vinyáya looked up at Grub and scooted herself further up the couch, so she more reclined than lay, and prodded her stomach once more. "It's the tone I'm going for. Not the words. Duh." Poke, jab prod. "You hear that, soldier! Atteeeeention! Move out!" She waited.

Grub began to snicker, dearly wishing he had his video-camera on hand to preserve that moment for a future when she was less hormonal. "I guess he's not going to be LEP material."

Vinyáya glared at her stomach. "He can do whatever he wants when he grows up, but he'd better get out _now!_" She dug her finger low into her stomach.

Grub took a step forward, intending to stop the woman before she became guilty of in-utero child abuse. "Hey, Vinyáya, calm down and—"

"HURK!" Vinyáya jumped off of the couch like she was spring-loaded, shoving past her guest and out the door to the backyard and recycling lounge, into which she disappeared.

Grub, discreetly, went back to the kitchen and dish drying, willing to let the retreat go without comment, it being of such a...delicate nature.

Vinyáya had nowhere near as stringent scruples. She returned five minutes later, stopping just inside the kitchen and stamping one pregnancy-swollen foot. "You're fucking _wrong_, Grub!"

Grub hung up a pot and looked at Vinyáya through the copper, brows raised. It was not the first time he had been told so.

"Anyone with a kick like that is going to be in gods-damned Section Eight, I _swear!_"

Turning, she thundered from the kitchen and back towards her bedroom, to try for the third time that day to take a nap, bound to failure by her rotundity. Just before she slammed the door, Grub heard her scream, "The bladder, _every fucking time!_"

Grub frowned, inspecting the bottom of the next pot up for drying. "Section Eight. Huh." He shook his head. "First zombies, now this..."

* * *

**Thursday**

Vinyáya let her head thump to the kitchen table, moaning. "I can't take it, Grub. No more. There's gotta be a way. You've got all the books. How can we induce labor?"

Grub, who was actually in the middle of reviewing all of his books for the tenth time, learning as much as he could about labor and birth, and the few weeks afterward, stopped and put a thin metal bookmark in his current volume and set it aside. He considered the stack carefully. While he didn't jump for joy at the idea of inducing the woman, she was at full term, and there were no known complications to the pregnancy. If she wanted to try something at-home, he was willing. It was a lot better than her thinking up something on her own. And, besides, she would threaten terrible things if he refused. Gods only knew how his manly bits were still intact, this far into the week.

He picked out one book and flipped to the index, then to the recommended page. "Let's see...light exercise, like walking. Jumping, possibly."

Vinyáya crossed her arms on the table and lay her chin across them. She shook her head. "Just did some martial arts. If that's not going to do it, then _light_ exercise certainly wont."

Grub hummed. He'd wondered about the yells and thumping he'd heard an hour ago. The Wing Commander was a sporty woman, so it made sense that she would be roundhouse kicking right up to labor. And perhaps during, if he was unlucky. "Castor oil...oh, wait, no...that's not recommended because you'll have diarrhea...I'm assuming you don't want that."

"I'd rather not, if there's other options," Vinyáya grumbled. "Though I'll keep it in mind."

"Okay...er..." Grub read the next option and blushed.

"What?" Vinyáya asked, lifting up her head, though it did not put her in a position to read the words.

"U-uh...well...several hours a day of...um..." He mumbled.

Vinyáya heard him well enough and sat up straight, staring down at her chest. "Really? My nipples?" She poked at one turgid breast. On the side, instead of the nipple itself. She sucked on her lower lip, running it back and forth on her teeth as she considered.

Grub looked dazedly between chest and worrying mouth, eyes unfocused, book forgotten. "Yeah...hours of it..."

Vinyáya sighed and shook her head. "Too sore. Next?"

When the man did not respond for a full half-minute, Vinyáya looked up. The trajectory of his sight was easy enough to follow, and she had to wonder if the latest solution wasn't actually half-bad. "Grub..."

"Right!" His name uttered, spell broken, Grub looked down at his book, blurting out the next possibility.

"Intercourse!"

His eyes bulged.

Vinyáya's complexion took on the pink that Grub had displayed up to that point, while he shot on in color, surpassing her with a red that would make tomato farmers jealous.

"I...I...I..." Grub buried his face in the book, reading frantically, hunting for the next solution.

"That's..._inter_esting..." Vinyáya commented neutrally, shifting in her seat. Preparing to rise.

"Raspberry tea!" Grub shouted, jumping out of his chair, his movement startling the Wing Commander into a freeze. He ran into the kitchen, throwing open the cabinet above the sink. "It says raspberries and raspberry leaf tea can work, and there's no side effects!" He tossed boxes of tea on the counter, reaching all the way to the back before crying out in triumph and removing a box with the decoration of a field of the aforementioned fruit being harvested by hovering sprites. He thumped his head on a hanging pan as he reached into the rack to get a teapot and begin the process of brewing.

Vinyáya watched him for only a moment before she lost interest. Surreptitiously, she reached across the table and put a finger to the book, pressing down so she could drag it towards her and keep the page. She decided she should know a little more about that penultimate option...

* * *

**Friday**

The box of raspberry leaf tea was gone. As was a second box beyond that. Vinyáya had spent half of the last day trying to settle herself between trips to the recycling lounge, but that was the only side effect of their efforts to induce labor. She had just settled back onto the couch, with Grub sitting on the armchair, actually—gods, more and more, the implications against his heterosexuality—knitting a jumper (though he had the decency to be knitting terribly, and was on the verge of giving up), when it became all too much.

"I...I...I..." She struggled, chest heaving.

Grub, shocked to recognize distress from the woman, who had never before shown such complete weakness, dropped his needles and sat up. "What! What is it? Did you just have a contraction?"

"N-noooooo!" She wailed, head thrown back, tears breaking free. "I'm gonna be pregnant _forever!"_

Grub settled back into his chair, groaning. He was not prepared to deal with this.

* * *

**Saturday**

Grub was walking down the hall, heading out for a shower, when the doorbell rang. He kept going past the living room to open the door, glad he hadn't gone down to boxers for his trek into the backyard, as he occasionally did on warm days.

"Yo," Holly said once the door was open. She thrust a box into his arms. "It's all the store had."

Grub waited for further explanations from the major, but was not privy to such a courtesy. He lifted a corner of the box and looked inside to find five plastic baskets filled with raspberries, plus another three boxes of tea.

"Riiiiight..." He nodded, trying to give the delivery girl a thankful smile, even though he was exhausted. He'd never thought having a week off from work would be so taxing. Or that it would take him a full hour to get Vinyáya to stop crying. "Thanks,"

"No problem," Holly said with a genuine smile. "Just remember, I've got first shot at babysitting."

Grub nodded, though he was sure it was going to put his mother into one of her indignant fits. These sorts of deals weren't uncommon among the People, whose low birthrate lent itself to an obsession with newborns. He and Vinyáya would have no short supply of sitters for the next five years, at the very least.

"Hey, Captain," Holly said just as he was about to move back inside, door halfway closed. "What's the other option?"

Grub paused, looking at her. "Huh?"

Holly gestured at the fruit box. "Vinyáya said she'd have to try the other option, if this didn't work. I figure I might as well pick that up, on the way home, just in case."

"Other..." Grub's mouth went dry. "I...don't bother. Really. I can...I'm sure she'll go into labor any minute, now. Thanks to these." He raised the box in salute and squawked, "Thanks," once more, then closed the door as fast as he could without slamming.

Grub staggered to the kitchen, staring down at the raspberries. That was a _fuckload_ of raspberry for one person. This, surely, had to work. And...if it didn't, then...then she'd want...

"Castor oil!" Grub gasped, dropping the box onto the kitchen table. He'd forgotten that one! Castor oil! Thank the gods, he'd thought...

Grub looked down at his pelvis. Swallowing, he hooked his towel over his forearm, using it as a curtain before him as he walked through the living room and to the bathing pond.

He used up all the soap over the next two hours.

* * *

**Week 41**

**Sunday**

Grub hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't the news she would want, but at least he wasn't the most likely focus of her ire.

Walking back into the living room, holding onto a steaming wet towel at the corners, Grub went to the side of the couch, on which Vinyáya lay.

At his approach, she lifted the corner of the towel already over her eyes, blinking sleepily. "What'd he say?" she croaked.

"If you haven't gone into labor by eight tomorrow, he'll induce medically."

Vinyáya smiled at Ginko's pronouncement. "Eight in the morning?"

"No," he soothed, taking the cool cloth away and replacing it with a warm one. He was unsure if her groan was for the heat or for the news. She should have known better than to have that hope; eight in the morning would have been at the beginning of the nocturnal People's sleeping hours. "In the evening, Vinyáya. That's less than twenty-four hours."

"Less..." She grumbled something very unkind about the doctor and settled deeper into the couch cushions. "Better than nothing, I guess..."

"That's the spirit," Grub encouraged, turning to go back to the kitchen and begin another heating in his endless rotation.

Before he got far, Vinyáya's hand shot out, grabbing onto the man's wrist, wrenching him to a standstill and wheeling him about to face her.

Grub cringed, eyes closed, waiting for...the _demand._

"I..." Vinyáya swallowed and put her other hand over the cloth on her eyes, further shutting out her sight. "Thank you, Grub."

Grub looked at his wrist, a little dazed. Even though she couldn't see him, he smiled in reassurance. "Yeah. No problem."

She didn't let go. In fact, Vinyáya squeezed tighter, licking at her lips. "No. I mean...for everything."

"I..." Grub had to look away. Gently, he twisted his wrist, loosening her grip on him, until, after many tense seconds, she seemed to comply, letting him go with a long sigh, bringing that hand up to rest on her forehead with the other.

Grub's fingers twitched, and he tensed and relaxed the muscles of his arms and back. He looked at Vinyáya's face, which was completely unreadable without eyes or eyebrows to give a clue on her mood.

Gently, quietly, Grub reached out, placing his thumb on one of Vinyáya's cheeks, stroking.

She didn't move at all, and he would have thought her asleep if he hadn't been watching and timing her breathing since he'd come in.

He moved his hand back, pushing a few stray silver hairs before it, tucking them behind her ears. His thumb returned to her cheek, stroking a few more times before he breathed, "Sure thing, Vin."

She snorted, but did not correct him. In fact, her lips twitched just a bit before exhaustion finally claimed her, consciousness fleeing with a long outward breath that made all subsequent ones longer and longer.

Grub spent a few more seconds at her side, though he wanted so many more. Only after she had gone into a brief fit of twitching from her dreams—no longer nightmares, he was glad to know—did he cover her with a blanker and walk back into the kitchen, trying to figure out what else he could do with the last half-pound of berries.

* * *

**Monday**

Vinyáya shot up from the couch, wrapping her arms about her stomach, screaming at the top of her lungs. It went on for ten seconds and, when she petered out, she took a deep, gasping breath.

"MOTHER OF FROND, YOU SON OF A _BITCH!"_

Down the hall, Grub opened an eye and looked at his alarm clock, barely processing the display of _10:23 a.m._ He flailed about at the bedside table until his fingers wrapped around his cell phone. He closed his eyes again after he hit speed-dial, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Nnnn...yeah, I know what time it is, Trouble. Get the car. Vinyáya just went into labor. Yes, now. You wanna ask _her_ that? Didn't think so. See you soon." He snapped the phone closed and swung his legs off the bed, spending a minute or two sitting on the side. Processing. Slowly.

Grub grinned, toes curling as he woke up completely. "_Finally_."

* * *

**Preview: "I'm gonna break your little heart,/ watch you take the fall,/ laughing all the way to the hospital/ 'cause there's nothing surgery can do/ when I break your little heart in two."**

* * *

**I wrote and edited this chapter in one day. YAY!**

**To the podfic audition people: I am lazy. I am out of sorts. There's construction people in my apartment. Casting ASAtheygetthefuckout.**

**To everyone: Reviews?**


	47. This Love is Accidental

**Apologies: Short chapter, maybe could have been combined with the next, which is also short, but it didn't feel right. Hey, at least it came quick.**

* * *

**Song: "Break Your Little Heart" by All Time Low**

* * *

**Chapter 47: This Love is Accidental**

"Controlled chaos" was a good term to use when describing the LEP (it would also make a great name for a band, but that's beside the point). As the largest single employer in all of the Lower Elements, there was not just always _something_ going on, but several hundred somethings, most of which were intrinsically connected to one another. However, despite the activity, the Force had long ago worked most of the kinks out of the delicate dance that was their day-to-day existence. Everyone might be yelling at everyone else to get their job done in time, but they almost always came through, and all was well, if leaving the officers full of ulcers and panic attacks.

"Controlled chaos" was _not_ a good term to use for the Vinyáya household once Trouble arrived. Without even bothering to knock, the Retrieval Commander burst through the (locked) door, voice booming out, demanding attention.

"What the _fucking_ _HELL_ am I supposed to do?"

He looked ready to piss himself. Laser blasts coming right at his head? That was _fun_. Childbirth? That...that involved a lot of _blood..._right?

Grub looked up from the dining room table, where he had just finished pouring a cup of tea (chamomile, not raspberry) for Vinyáya. He rolled his eyes. Next to him, having the luck to be between contractions, Vinyáya was able to snicker at their coworker's complete mental breakdown, followed by a deep drought of the calming. She'd always suspected that the elder Kelp could be made into a complete pansy, but she had never figured out the circumstances for such a transformation. It was a pity this wasn't something she could use on a day-to-day basis. Unless she put some rather peculiar consultation fees in Section Eight's budget...

Grub went to his brother's side, laying a steady hand on his shoulder. "You brought your car?"

Trouble flailed his arms in the air, nearly hitting the soon-to-be father. "Of course! How do you think I got here?"

"Well, you're gasping enough to have run all the way." He slapped the panicking elf on the back. "And I wouldn't put it past you, in this state."

"Grub," Trouble said, grabbing the younger man's shoulders and squeezing them hard, as if that grip would keep him from being flung off the Earth's surface and directly into the sun. "You're having a _baby_."

"I know." Grub smiled, wide and infectious (unless you were Trouble or Vinyáya). "Isn't it _great_? Now, mind getting Vinyáya in the car? I'll be out once I'm ready."

Vinyáya, who had just finished her tea and was watching her stomach, anticipating an incoming contraction, looked up and between the brothers. "Wait...aren't you coming with us?"

Grub walked down the hall to the front door, calling back to her in a half-distracted manner. "Well...ahead of you, yes. Finish your tea. It'll calm you down."

"Okay, look: _nothing_ is going to calm me down. I am in _labor_." Vinyáya stood, swaying for a moment, holding a hand out to keep the men from rushing to her side. In labor she was; weak she was not. "Once you're ready for _what_? What are you going to do?"

It was undeniably true that, in the last few months, Grub had been gaining more confidence than anyone could have predicted. However, the look he shot them now wasn't just confident. It was cocky. And not _normal_ cocky. _Kelp_ cocky. The sort of look Trouble wore right before running into a room crowded with hormone-crazed male goblins, with no backup. He had a half-grin which showed off bright teeth, and bright eyes which were almost hidden by his messy hair. In fact, he seemed just one degree away from winking, which would have made the entire situation so surreal that all others present would have been sure this was either a dream or a drug trip. "I," he said, opening the closet by the front door and pulling out a brown pleather jacket, sweeping it around his back so he slid into both arms at the same time, "will be the escort." He zipped up his jacket and smoothed his hair back, in a gesture he had seen done a hundred times by the star Wheelies.

Trouble twitched. He look at Grub very closely. He...he looked..._cool_.

Trouble whirled and pointed a finger at the middle of Vinyáya's chest, bellowing, "_Woman,_ what the hell have you done to my little brother!"

She shook her head, at a loss for words. Then something clicked. "Wait...escort? Escorting on what?"

Grub took a set of keys from the rack by the door, finger in the metal loop, flicking them about in swift revolutions. A pure-gold model of the LEP's newest shuttle glittered as the main adornment. "Your bike, of course."

Vinyáya's stomach roiled with horror. "Oh no! You are _not—_"

"Bring the luggage in the closet, will you, bro?" Grub slapped the closet's door frame before yanking the garage side-door open. He disappeared into the tool-crowded room, hitting the door opener as he went. "Hurry up, you two!"

"Grub! _KELP, _get your ass back in here!" Vinyáya charged towards the garage, barely restrained by the Commander, who was cringing at the very idea of having to restrain a pregnant woman. "Let me go! I am not going to let him drive my baby!"

"No," Trouble countered, spinning her around and pushing her out the front door and down the walkway. "_I_ am driving your baby. _He_ is driving a magna-bike. Get in the car."

"But heaaaaaah!" Vinyáya stopped protesting as another contraction hit her, and she was suddenly glad Trouble had jumped the curb and parked on her lawn. It meant she was able to grab onto the passenger side door as a support, rather than falling to the ground when her legs went weak.

Trouble looked around, seeking assistance, but only saw his brother on the road, several dozen meters off, already astride the magna-bike and waiting with one foot on the ground. Trouble couldn't see his brother's eyes through the dark visor of the helmet, but he was fairly certain they were raised towards the sky. The captain held out a hand, stroking it in the air until Trouble got the message and timidly rubbed Vinyáya's back.

The touch did it's job. She let out a long-withheld breath and sucked air back in, swaying so that her fellow commander had to steady her. A few seconds later, it was over, and she was paler than any elf had a right to be.

Trouble managed to collect himself enough to open the door and get Vinyáya—no longer protesting—strapped in before sprinting back inside the house, grabbing the large duffel bag. Pulling it along behind, he wondered if Grub had managed to pack the damned _crib_ in with everything else. He barely remembered to lock the front door before tossing the bag into his back seat and taking his place at the wheel.

Finding his charges were finally ready, Grub flicked a few switches on the magna-bike's panel, and the front lit up with red and blue police lights, a siren blaring out across the suburbs.

Vinyáya groaned, slamming back against the headrest. "He _does_ know that labor takes _hours_, right?"

"As much as he's read?" Commander Kelp turned on the car, gunning it and swinging about (nearly knocking over a sapling as he got back onto the street) to come in behind his brother, who took off, ready to clear the way before them. "Just...go with it. He thinks he's being a hero."

The woman studied the back of her ex-lover, who was leaning over the handlebars as if he was ready to ride the magna-bike into a herd of charging bulls in order to get them to part before the car. She nodded, massaging her temples. "Okay, fine. If you insist. _Just_ this once."

Glancing at her, Trouble smirked. "Of course once. This _is_ only happening _once,_ riiiiiight?"

Glaring was her response, and Trouble wisely looked straight ahead for the rest of the drive.

* * *

They blasted their way through Haven. Ginko's private offices were within an easy walk up until the last stages of pregnancy, but the hospital itself was near to Police Plaza, and that area was never without traffic. Grub charged ahead, herding the motorists with a blaring horn and wild hand signals, as well as more than a few aggressive darts at side panels. Trouble was sure he was going to be getting a lot of complains from citizens about pushy Wheelies, but...well, the number of complains he had to deal with had dropped off quite drastically in recent months, so he could deal.

There seemed to be something manic in Grub's driving. Not just a desire to get Vinyáya to a safe environment, but also...well, quite frankly, he looked to be enjoying himself. In one of the rare empty stretches of road, he even blasted forward, popping onto one wheel for a moment before crashing back down, hitting the breaks so Trouble came up alongside him. He waved to Vinyáya as they came alongside, who began to scream about making sure he didn't scratch a single millimeter of her precious bike, only stopping when another contraction hit. This didn't seem to sober him in the least, as he just zoomed off again, darting in front of a line of cars that had begun to take advantage of a green light, keeping them back despite honking and insults against his mother while Trouble went through. Grub let the words slide as he took off after the car. The man was high on adrenaline, and he thought some of the drivers had made accurate points.

The lately transferred Traffic Captain seemed to have been ordered back into vehicle training by his commanding officer. Despite some close calls, the only damage that came to the bike would have been centered on the tires, which screamed at every turn, and sounded close to exploding as he went into the final drift around the hospital entrance, where he stopped due less to the breaks themselves and more to the wearing off of rubber on the road, pulling off a very Wing Commander-esque parking job, though with a bit less suaveness at the end. He barely remembered to turn the bike off, and also narrowly avoided knocking it over while he dismounted and wrenched off his helmet, scrambling to the side of the red sportscar as it paused in the unloading area. "Everyone okay?" He looked between Trouble and Vinyáya, mostly focusing on the woman as he opened her door. His long hair was matted down with sweat and helmet-pressure, and he panted as if he'd run the entire way, instead of rode.

Vinyáya opened her mouth to respond with her normal volley of threats, as their new family tradition dictated.

"Oh! A wheelchair!" Grub yipped, disappearing again, coming back moments later with a new ride for the mother, who had just begun stepping out of the car.

"Oh," Vinyáya snarled, holding her hands out, "_hell_ no. I can still walk _just fine._" She kicked the chair away, straightened her back as much as her swelled stomach would allow, and strode towards the front doors with more grace than a woman in labor had any right to possess.

Grub looked at the ground as she passed. "Oh...I...okay..."

Vinyáya held her head high. _Good. He needs to remember I'm no pri-aaaah!_ The last was actually transferred from thought to screech as cold metal hit her knees, making her fall back onto the padded seat of the wheelchair. Her fingers scrambled at the armrests as she tried to reassure herself that she wasn't going to fall directly on her rear. Once she was assured of this fact, she looked up to see Grub, still smiling like an idiot, pushing her towards the reception desk, the front wheels of the chair never touching ground. "I am going to _kill you,_" she hissed.

"Well aware," he said, stopping in front of a pair of sprite nurses.

They seemed to have some faint inklings as to who this woman was, but without enough political interests to immediately recognize a council member. They were squinting every few seconds in that traditional open-mouthed "I _know_ her" face, and leaning towards each other to jab an elbow into the other's ribs when a possibility struck them. Finally, the elder of the pair arose and stepped around the front desk with a genuine, radiant smile. A pregnant woman was still a pregnant woman, and they were the most welcome guests at any fairy hospital. "How can I help you two?"

"You can tell _me_," Vinyáya acknowledged, pointing both index fingers at her swollen stomach, "where I can go to get this thing extracted. It's _done_."

Half of the sprites face continued to smile, but it was strained, as if she were trying to appeal to the old, friendlier instincts of a rabid dog. It seemed she finally remembered who the woman was. She took a data tablet from her partner and handed it to the woman for filling out, pointing behind her to the main hospital corridor. "Third floor, just follow the signs."

"Could you call Doctor Ginko?" Grub appealed with a subservient, tentative smile, determined to get the nurses on his side, seeing as how he probably wouldn't be on Vinyáya's anymore. At least not until sometime around the child's fifth birthday. Doctors were well and good, but nurses were the real masters of any hospital. They were the ones who cleaned the bedpans, after all, and you _do _not mess with people who can ignore incontinence. "I have his cell number, if you don't."

"Oh," the younger nurse gasped, schooling her expresson when the elder turned to narrow her eyes at her. "Oh, yes...we have the number, no problem. I'll call right now." To fully reassure the man, she picked up the phone and dialed.

Grub hesitated, watching her as the phone began to ring.

"Well?" Vinyáya inquired, leg jiggling in impatience. "Do you want me to pop the boy out in the reception area? _Go!_"

"Right!" He jumped forward, just as Trouble finally came up behind them, panting from his ordeal finding parking and then running to the reception area.

Trouble let the pair go on ahead, wanting a bit more space between himself and the Wing Commander. He was now at least _mentally_ scarred for life, as her last contraction had been so intense that her hands had swung out randomly until one touched his thigh, at which point her fingers had clamped down like a bulldog's teeth, digging into about two inches away from his package. He'd nearly crashed the car at that point, and only an ability to handle pain in a crisis, created through repeated injuries in the LEP, saved them both.

Trouble propped one hand on the back of a line of chairs in the reception area and lifted up his leg, massaging his thigh and shooting in extra sparks. It took way more than he'd anticipated for the pain to drift away. Grub had better watch his magic carefully, if he was going to have any decent reserve by the end of the day.

When he could think clearly, Trouble considered his obligations. Holly was on her way, and bringing along Fowl, she had said. The Major hoped that exposure to a birth among the People would activate his fairy instincts and sway his opinions on parenthood. Of course, she hadn't said that on the phone, with Fowl nearby to hear, but it didn't take much to notice how she'd begun to look at Vinyáya's stomach in the last few weeks.

Hibiscus...well, the brothers had an agreement to not call her until the baby was crowning. With that sort of delay, and the mid-day or evening traffic for her to fight, they'd have a good hour or two to spend with the baby without their mother making a fuss. Of course, that was if the tabloids didn't immediately catch on and begin trumpeting the news.

Duke knew, but he was on the tail-end of a week-long stint at the fire department, and even the Chief can't skip out on something like that, though his wives would doubtless make an appearance before mother and child were released from hospital care. Which left...

Lili didn't really need to know about the birth, but she would need to know about her boss's absence from the workplace in the morning, if they were going to prevent her complete and total mental breakdown. He'd already been spending most of his early evenings at the Mansion, coaching Regal on sickeningly cute things he could do to make his mother happy during the last few intense weeks, and that had only had partial success.

Trouble snapped his phone open and speed-dialed "1," finding himself unable to speak for a moment when a very grumpy voice demanded, "What?" after the second ring.

"Lili!" Trouble began to whisper, as if the woman were half-awake right next to him, instead of sounding fairly cognizant and halfway across Haven. "Sorry. I thought you put your phone on silent while you slept."

"I do_," _she grunted, and he heard a loud sucking noise, as if she drank something. Noting the time, likely coffee. "But the Club is having their annual golf tournament, so I kept getting woken up by the setup crew and _extremely_ polite clapping. What's up?" She took another sip, and this seemed to be the one to fully activate her brain, as she thumped her cup down and gasped, "_Baby?"_

"Yeah," Trouble said, laughing at her breathlessness. He imagined all the women in the Plaza were going to be contemplating their maternity leave packages over the next few months. "No Holly tomorrow. You're under Vein until she and I are back."

"Oh..._super_," Lili grumbled. "Just where he's always wanted me..."

Trouble pressed his fist against the reception counter until his knuckles popped. "Yeah...I will...totally look the other way if you castrate him with one of my medals."

"Aw, Trouble," Lili purred, "you're so sweet."

Trouble knew he must be blushing. "Only for you, Tiger Lily."

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**Preview: "I'm strong enough to say/ that I don't wanna take the high road now./ This is so typical of you to walk away/ when your perfect little world is burning down."**


	48. I'm Not the Only One Who Makes Mistakes

**Author's note: I like juggling conventions. Because it's sixteen hours a day without Internet, only broken up by some bull-whipping (I like whips...except when I accidentally whip myself in the ass). Which is wonderful for my output. The...no Internet. Not the ass-whippings. That would make for an entirely different story.**

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**Song: "What I Meant to Say" by Daughtry**

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**Chapter 48: I'm Not the Only One Who Makes Mistakes**

Grub would forever regret that he did not push a little harder and convince Vinyáya to let him videotape the labor and birth. She had actually given it some thought, sitting down and searching the fairy equivalent of YouTube for similar videos, to help her decide. Three minutes of that, and she staggered out of the house office, quite pale, and told him that they would most definitely _not_ be recording the birth, and why did fairies not do that "epidural" thing that humans seemed to mention in every Mud Man video she'd seen? Natural birth? Connection to the Earth? _Fuck that_, she was _not_ going to scream for hours on end.

The People had never been big on invasive medical procedures, unlike humans. In order to preserve life or quality of life, surgeries were done, though the People's natural healing and largely herbivorous diet made them rare. As for birth itself, they hadn't fallen into the same vicious cycles as the Mud Men. All painkilling drugs used by the humans slowed labor, making it necessary to administer drugs that sped up labor, which had the side-effect of making the process more painful, thus requiring more painkillers, then more accelerants, and so on, often leading to riskier births than if done naturally.

Grub, like most fairies, had been confused as to why humans still did that. Until Vinyáya dislocated one of the bones in his hand while clutching it during a contraction. For the second time. When she was done howling and had let his hand go, he'd gone off to whimper a bit, pull his fingers until the bone popped back into place, and shoot in some small sparks of magic to dull the throbbing. He knew that she was among the most physically fit officers in the LEP, but he could not figure out how one strengthened ones _hands_ that much.

"You...huff huff huff...fucking..._bastard_," Vinyáya snarled, her eyes somehow both dark as death and red-bright with rage. "You...huuuu...rrrrr..._did this to me_."

Grub wondered if he'd lost the instinct of self preservation, as his response to that was to smile calmly, his only reward an unintelligible spitting and slathering from the woman on the bed.

A portly gnome nurse—in fact, the same Head Nurse Eda that had accompanied them on their tour a month ago—came through the swinging door to the delivery room and took in the Wing Commander's wildcat communication. She paused beside the expectant father, whose smile for her was a lot smaller, and embarrassed, and reached out to pat his arm. "Don't worry too much about it, Dad," she said, strategically using his soon-to-be awarded title to remind him why he was putting up with the abuse. "Women always go a little crazy during labor. They tend to forget once the baby is born and they get a good dose of oxytocin." She laughed, patting her stomach, which was quite round, as if she were already halfway to term. "Why, if my husband hadn't videoed for our firstborn, I would never have believed I called him a small di—"

"HRAAAAAH!" Vinyáya howled, back arching, head slamming into her pillow.

"Cue!" Nurse Eda shouted, shoving Grub's back, sending him sprawling towards his partner.

Grub stumbled over his own feet, landing on his knees with a crack that made the nurse wince, but managing to sidle to the bedside, where he was rewarded with another bone-crushing squeeze, the combined pain making sparks fly before his eyes. It took him a moment to realize those sparks were his own magic, and he cursed, cutting it off, waiting for the contraction to end before he explored his injuries and decided the bruising could be handled.

When the intense pain left Vinyáya, leaving just a hot throbbing, she let Grub's hand go, closing her eyes, drifting off to dreamless sleep. She had done this several times already, her exhaustion made all the worse by labor beginning when she was just falling asleep.

Grub snapped his hand and blew on it, as if her grip really had been white-hot iron. Standing, he went back to Nurse Eda, who was shaking her head as she accepted a data tablet from the nurse on duty, scanning the readouts.

"How much longer, do you think?"

Eda tapped a stylus on the data tablet, flipping the display to the latest readings from the small electrodes that had been taped to Vinyáya's skin on check-in, their signals sent to the larger monitors next to the bed, to be analyzed and thence broadcast throughout the maternity ward. "Hmmm...Two-point five centimeters. Farther along than I'd expect of a first-time mother." She lowered the tablet and raised her brows at the man. "Black cohosh?"

"Raspberries, actually," Grub responded, lowering his head, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. Fairies, being smaller than humans, did not reach their standard of ten centimeters. For elves, the number was a little under seven centimeters, pixies as low as six, and dwarves about eight. The only family that went larger than humans being demons, who had entire eggs to pass. A fact that had scarred the entire Fowl-adventure circle a few years ago, when one of their demon companions had proudly shown the "birth" video for his first child. "So...only a couple more hours?" Grub conjectured hopefully.

Eda snorted. "A couple? My dear boy, first-time mothers can take upwards of twenty-four hours. Granted, I think your lady over there is being helped along nicely by your home remedy, but I suspect she has at least six more hours before she can begin pushing."

"Six...more..." Grub looked at his poor hand and checked on his magic reserves. He'd never make it. Even if Vinyáya had been in mild labor for an hour as she slept, and adding in the hour for Trouble to get them to the hospital, plus the two hours already gone since he'd arrived, it made for an incredibly short labor. Ten hours, with four already gone. Yet he'd already used about ten percent of his magic healing his bruises and dislocations, and extending that over the next six hours—with a likely increase in injuries as the pain intensified—would put him into the magic danger zone, according to doctor's orders.

Getting a look at the elf's white and red hand, the gnome understood. She'd not seen such intense clutching before, but she was not new to bedside torture. "Here, boy," Eda said, clapping a hand on Grub's forearm, then upper arm. "Or here. Less delicate. I'll bring in a stress ball, as well, though women tend to prefer grabbing people. Something about sharing the pain, I imagine."

"Thank you. I..." Grub nodded, knowing there was no amount of thanking he could do that would properly cover all this woman did. His own hands clenching, though with nowhere near the strength the laboring woman had, he changed the subject. "Have you heard back from Dr. Ginko?"

The gnome grunted at the name, but nodded the affirmative.

"When will he get here?"

"He said once he is able to, Mr. Kelp." The nurse tried to keep a neutral face, but it was hard to hide the scowl she was inclined towards. It didn't show on her lips, but lines appeared between her brows and at the corners of her eyes.

Grub began pulling at his hair, muttering very, very disrespectful things under his breath, not caring that one of the doctor's occasional co-workers was before him, with the possibility that his insults (very standard, but covering a wide variety of topics) could be conveyed before the stressful birth could begin.

He needn't have worried about her feelings on the matter. Eda chuckled at the better accusations laid against the doctor, memorizing them for speculation over coffee with the other nurses. "I'll take over for a while," the Head volunteered, grabbing the man's arm and spinning him towards the door she had just come in through. "Go sit with your brother and his friend. Take a nap. You'll need your strength almost as much as she will, when it comes time to push."

"_Thank you_," Grub groaned, glad for a moment's freedom, though he had imagined just the day before that he would never leave Vinyáya's side once they entered the hospital. With birth six hours off, he was entirely willing to disappear for...just about six hours, if he could keep his guilt from kicking in.

As he made for the door, the nurse's advice finished processing, and he paused to look at her. "His friend?"

"Hmmm?" Looking back up from her tablet once more, she was half-distracted for a few more seconds before her eyes popped to focus, gesturing towards the waiting room with a stylus. "Oh, yes. Mr. Fowl. He arrived a few minutes ago, with Major Short."

"Ah..." Grub nodded, glad that the security detail was now on duty. Holly's designation as the Councilwoman's temporary bodyguard had been easy enough to deduce, though he wasn't sure what made her stand out from the more...burly officers that could be enlisted for the task. If he hadn't known the woman could beat him within an inch of his life from a full-magic position, he might have objected.

Begrudgingly admitting that Vinyáya was in good hands, no longer needing him, should assassins burst through the doors, he walked out of the delivery room and into the hall, almost immediately coming across the officer in question.

Holly gave Grub a cheerful wave and continued past him, never breaking stride, finding him far less important to the situation than the woman waiting for her inside the ward. She opened the door with a loud, "Hello!" Then went silent as she noticed that her boss was in the middle of one of her brief rest periods.

Grub seriously hoped she had not woken the woman up, as there would be a major reckoning, if she did. Rather than see the transaction, he continued on down the hall, walking a little faster than before, not relaxing until he went through a set of double swinging doors, coming out into the waiting room.

Trouble sprang from his seat, taking long strides towards his brother, arms outstretched, grinning like a madman. "Bro! What is it? Tell me! Now!"

Grub was engulfed in a hug that crushed his lungs flat, making him wheeze until quite some time after Trouble let go, holding him at arm's length and bouncing as he waited.

"Trouble," Grub coughed, pounding his chest. "We've been here _two hours_."

"Yeah, I know," Trouble rumbled, squeezing Grub's shoulders. "So...what is it?"

In view just beyond the commander, Artemis Fowl's shoulders shook, mouth bent into a half-amused, half-malicious smirk. He had been in the waiting room for the birth of his youngest sibling, Lucy, and knew well enough how long one could be left waiting.

"It's another six hours, minimum," Grub finally deigned to answer, making Trouble's jaw drop.

"Six...more...but she's _screaming_ in there!"

As if to illustrate his point, the waiting room was suddenly filled with a moaning-shriek that would have scared off most of the world's major predators. It went on for a good minute, with no noticeable break, making the Kelp boys wince and Artemis Fowl eventually quirk a brow, impressed at the lung capacity.

Thirty seconds after the screaming ended, Holly burst into the waiting room, her short hair—which had so lately been in an easy flip that probably marked the most elaborate hairdo she bothered with—smashed on one side, held down by what appeared to be sweat (and what one hoped wasn't spittle), the other side straight down, light curl defeated, her casual clothes rumpled, and cradling one hand.

She walked up to Artemis, stopping before him, and whimpered, lower lip trembling.

Artemis observed the destruction and raised the brow further. "Decided to wait on children, I take it?"

Holly nodded violently and flung herself into Artemis's arms, trembling as he stroked her back and walked her away from the brothers so he could murmur words of consolation without embarrassing himself too much by betraying his elven tenderness.

Trouble watched the woman until she and her lover took seats, and then he turned back to his brother, eyes wide in shock. "Six...more?"

"At least," Grub confirmed, feeling his knees going a little weak as he considered the prospect himself.

"Oh, man..." Trouble shook his head and held out his arms. "Hug, dude?"

Grub flung himself into his brothers arms just as Holly had done to her lover, allowing himself to be wrapped up in the elder elf's strength. It was unmanly, and he supposed he should have been as masculine as possible in the hours before he became a father, but it just wasn't going to work. He wasn't going to make it on his own, and this...this just might help.

Trouble patted his brother's back, rocking him side to side, glad that the only people about to see the interaction were the similarly engaged Fowl-Short combo. They could probably settle on a stalemate through mutually assured destruction. He tried to put that thought aside so he could focus on his sibling. "Hey. You're doing great, Grubbles. Really."

"No, I'm _not_," Grub eeked out, glad his voice did not crack or descend into blubbering. "I...I'm _terrified_."

"I think that just means you realize what's going on," Trouble said, earning a shaky laugh from the younger man. "Now, come on. Let's sit down. You look like you need to rest and have something to eat."

Grub nodded assent, but only after Trouble began to guide him onto the waiting room's couch. He was unable to remember enough about food to give his brother an order, so the elder just ruffled the captain's hair and wandered off in search of the other definition of "grub."

He came back ten minutes later with a tray of juices, coffee, and jam-slathered toast, only to find that the captain had grabbed one of the couch pillows and lay down on his side, curled up around the pillow, snoring loud enough to earn dirty looks from Fowl.

Trouble looked down at his little brother and the pillow, and snorted. "Still do that, huh?" He asked of no one in particular, knowing that Grub was too far gone to respond, and trusting that Fowl wouldn't have much to say about upholstery cuddles. He set the food tray down near Grub's head, hoping the smell of food would rouse him, and took a seat on one of the less-comfortable interconnected black chairs, settling in for a long..._long_ wait.

* * *

Holly had gone back on patrol about the time that Grub went to sleep, and Artemis and Trouble had taken it in turns to check in on Vinyáya. Neither was met with a cheerful welcome, but they weren't really surprised. Though Artemis_ had_ been quick to point out to Vinyáya, after she screamed at him for a good three minutes, that he had access to her Wing and Section Eight equipment, and could do something dastardly, the next time she was on a mission, if she didn't cease her insults. Something along the lines of blasting her helmet's speakers with "It's a Small World" in an endless loop, at triple-speed, with a background of cowbell beats that did not synch up to the tempo. The threat didn't have any effect on her words, however, and Artemis didn't really think he would carry through, knowing that his own mate would one day be in the same situation (and thank the gods that day would come a lot later, after her recent scarring), but he did file the threat away, thinking it quite genius, even for him.

After two hours, Grub had woken up quite suddenly. His entire body jerked with consciousness and he fell off the couch, hitting his head and dazing himself, losing a few sparks in the process, which seemed to upset him almost as much as the time that had passed while he rested. He'd been about to run back into the delivery room with no further recovery measures taken, but Holly was luckily present when he'd had his minor seizure, and had stood before him, arms crossed, and waited for him to gulp down lukewarm juice, cold coffee, and soggy toast before stepping aside and letting him back in.

He was enormously lucky that Vinyáya herself was in the middle of a between-contraction nap, and she did not seem to remember his absence when she next awoke, flailing about until her hand came into contact with his upper arm, which she squeezed with all her strength. Grub gritted his teeth at the pain, but nothing was broken, except some below-the-skin blood vessels. These he left, knowing he could heal naturally, or perhaps appeal to another fairy later on, so he didn't use his own powers.

When she let him go and fell back into panting, Grub took a brief leave and went to the on-duty nurse's side. "Where's she at, now?"

The nurse looked up from her charts, smiling. She was enjoying this father. He had that right balance of knowledge and panic that made a nurse's day pleasant. He could understand what she said, but still thought that she had all of the answers, instead of screaming about what she should be doing (a habit that was proved nearly-always wrong, even when the father was a doctor himself). "Four centimeters, Mr. Kelp."

"Four..._four_?" Grub gaped. _"Four?_" He'd been asleep two hours, and that was _all_ that had happened?

"Funny. Your wife said the same," the nurse said with a smile.

"I...she's not my wife," Grub said, dilation horror lost.

"Oh...right. Sorry, sir." The pixie smiled nervously, hoping this would not be one of the man's anger triggers. Fathers at a birth could lose their tempers over the smallest things, and it was rare that she saw a family unit of any type get through to the pushing stage without at least one explosion.

Luckily, the man just waved her apology off, seeming rather dazed. He had continued with that look until the mother of his child (the nurse was not going to attribute any of the People's alternative terms for wife, like co-parent, to the unknown arrangement) woke up with small grunts that soon evolved into full screams.

With such a small support group around for the birth, Trouble and Artemis were still taking on the task of occasional check-ins, usually being sent off on a fetch-quest by Vinyáya. Her demands had included the normal ice cubes, foodstuffs, drugs, and medical professionals, as well as more uncommon items. Like throwing stars. Which Artemis had seriously considered, until he realized the first might be used on his own body before he could escape from the delivery room.

Artemis was arriving for another such check-in as Grub sprinted back across the room and to Vinyáya's side, extending his forearm.

"Here, Vinyáya," Grub ordered, yelping when his arm was quickly taken up by both of her hands. He was unsure if she squeezed and _turned_ consciously or involuntarily, but the burn on his skin made the male gasp and let loose tears of pain. It was an uncontrollable reaction, and he hadn't even noticed that he did it until a minute had passed and Vinyáya released her grip, subsiding in the bed and turning her gaze onto the male.

She narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth, pain having mostly gone, leaving just rage over her situation. "Dear gods, Kelp," she sneered, "do you have to cry over everything?"

Grub brought a hand up, touching fingertips to his cheek, shocked to find she was right. He wiped the tears away swiftly, holding his head high once the evidence was gone. "Just the pain."

"The..._pain_?" Vinyáya laughed in his face. "What, a little _squeezing_? Gods. I am _so_ sorry you got a little _pinch_. Do you think your brother would nominate you for a _medal?"_

"I...I didn't say—"

"I think that's enough, Wing Commander," Artemis broke in, coming forward, trying to divert attention to himself. He had become terribly altruistic, thanks to the elf blood and Holly's influence, at least so far as a situation like this went. Ones where he could not be injured by the attacking party. Grub was far more susceptible to the Wing Commander's ranting than the techie, and there was of course the added benefit of Grub's likely eternal loyalty for a moment's salvation. Perhaps he would get the Ops Booth's priority paperwork processing back.

"Enough?" Vinyáya cackled, long and low, making even the genius pause his advance before he had intended to stop. _"Enough? _You must be joking. This..._this_," Vinyáya scowled, trying to think of a good descriptive word, and deciding that whatever the men filled "this" in for would probably be the best answer, leaving it to their own discretion "He spends _years_ fucking me, and he expects everyone to think it's so _sad_ and I'm so _cruel_ for not being won over by his...his..._charm_. His utter _patheticness._" She laughed again as Grub took a step back, shaking his head, mouth open as he waited for an opportunity to speak. "And then he just practically _jumps_ for joy when he knocks me up. Probably thought I'd panic and _beg_ me to marry him, just like his mother did."

"Stop it," Grub whispered, breathing hard, eyes shining.

"And then his own _mother_ decides she can't stand him, and kicks him out—"

"Vinyáya, stop," Artemis barked, holding out a hand. "You're not thinking—"

"Then he dates that _slut_ Frond, and he must be completely pathetic or a total moron to become the first man in history to fail to nail _her—"_

"Shut...up..." The captain growled, his fists clenching, no longer backing away. His shoulders hunched, head lowering as his body compacted, not to become smaller, but instead seeking to become more solid. More powerful. Tense and ready and _eager_.

"And, when she leaves him, he comes back, trying to woo _me_, as if I couldn't see how gods-damned _desperate_ he was, now that no one would—"

"_SHUT THE FUCK UP!_"

Grub turned, fist flying at double the speed of his body, crashing into one of the monitors next to Vinyáya's bed, shattering the screen, setting up shrill alarms as the equipment reported it's failure to the hospital staff. From down the halls, there came shouting and pounding feet as the doctors and nurses rushed to the maternity ward, unaware that the damage had been done to equipment, and not to the laboring mother herself.

The first through the door, having shoved her way to the front of the nurses, was Holly Short, arms outstretched as she trained a neutrino towards Vinyáya's bed, just a few feet in the air above where she lay. She was several lunging steps inside, eyes training on every occupant in quick circuits, trying to discover the threat, when she finally noticed Grub, his hand coming away from the sparking equipment. She stopped running, the shock of seeing this man, whom she had been placed alongside on occasion following her disgrace at Fowl Manor, always resulting in hours of complaints and general inaction. It was just enough of a shock to keep her from shooting. At least long enough for Artemis to wave at her, then chop his hand sideways in the air, negating her instincts. For the moment.

A moment was all Grub needed to turn to Vinyáya—the violence shocking her to silence—and grab the rail on the side of her bed, pulling himself close as he roared with all the strength his rarely-raised voice allowed. "_Shut up!_ Don't you _dare_ act like I _did_ this to you! I didn't _want_ this to happen! You're the one that couldn't control herself and stop coming to me when you knew you could get pregnant. I didn't want to spend the _rest of my life_ knowing the mother of my child can't _stand_ me! I didn't want the...the...the fucking _disdain_ of the entire LEP, for letting you use me, like a little _toy! _Like a _dog_ you cold train to pant and roll over and _beg_ whenever it _amused_ you.

"But I thought...I _thought_ that maybe, just _maybe_ we could make this work. We could _tolerate_ each other enough to not make this child's life _Hell_. But you have decided to prove me wrong at _every_ turn! You go and sleep with that _asshole_ Lope, and leave a fucking _note_ so I know it. And ridicule me even when I do the damned impossible and make it to Captain, even though I only did it so I could do my part and be responsible, even if you said you didn't need the help. And then you make it seem like, every time I do something nice for you, you should be lauded as a martyr for taking it with just a few _hours_ of _snide-ass comments!_

_ "_You never listened to me. _Never!_ Not even about the fucking _doctor!_ And where is he, Vinyáya? _Where is he?_" He spread his arms, spinning around, searching the room, stopping after one circle, to continue glaring down at the speechless woman. "I sure don't see him! And every nurse out there _knows_ he wont show up. Not in time. Because he wasn't going to induce until eight, and so that's when he'll show, because he's too busy...too busy with..." Grub laughed at the doctor's excuse, thinking that it should have been just so _obvious_ when he had looked so carefully at his schedule those months ago, when they narrowed down the delivery date.

"Fine." Grub went on, letting his arms go limp at his sides, not even bothering to hide the tears that had begun to fill his eyes. For surely, after everything, no one could blame him. "You don't want me? I get it! I've got it for _years_, Wing Commander! And you're right, I must have been a real fool, because Lili would have had sex with me." He leaned closer, their noses nearly touching, and lowered his voice to a growl. "Oh, and she _wanted_ it." He laughed at Vinyáya's tiny gasp and backing away, savoring the only retreat he had ever managed to get anyone to make. "The only reason I didn't do it was because I could never stop thinking of _you! _And now I know I should have taken her up on it, because maybe that would mean I could be with someone that actually _cares_ about me. Because, if I had known the shit you'd put me through, I'd never have fucked you in the first place! And I...I..."

Grub pushed back from the bed, which rocked, but did not slide across the floor, secured by deadbolts. Instead, he was the one that moved away, holding his hands in the air, as if he would be surrendering after this devastating assault. "I can't _take_ this anymore!" He looked about, at Fowl, Short, and the nurses and doctors, all of whom were staring at him, some just now beginning to move towards him, recalling their duty to restrain anything that might be a threat to their patient.

Holly still had her gun raised, and, despite Artemis's negation, trained it on Grub. She had a duty to perform, even if she knew, somehow, that she would regret shooting the man.

She would not have to. Shaking his head and moving away from the bed, Grub put his hand down. "I've...gotta..." He didn't explain further, the hospital staff parting before him, letting the man escort himself out. He punched the door open without looking back, silence descending over the room as it swung closed again.

Vinyáya stared at the door, not blinking. She waited one second. Two. Three. Any moment now. The door would open again. He'd come back in. Blushing. Head low. Apologizing. Crying, if he thought necessary. Back. Back. He'd...he had to...

Her belly was seized with pain as another contraction hit. This one more intense than any before. It seemed to go on forever, and even the feel of a hand covering her own and an insistent voice in her ear did not ease the pain. When it eased and she gasped for breath, vision coming back into focus, she looked to her side and saw Holly crouched next to her bed, eyes wide.

"I'm here, Vinyáya," Holly said, holstering her gun. She didn't notice as the majority of the nurses and all of the doctors left, some to follow Grub and make sure he did not come back for a second assault, but the majority recalled to their normal duties. A small contingent went about changing out the ruined equipment, their smooth movements almost unnoticed by the pair of women.

"I'm here," Holly repeated, petting Vinyáya's hand. "It's alright."

"I..." Vinyáya shook her head. "It's not," she whispered.

"Yes, it is," Holly said with a smile, continuing to stroke, now going all along Vinyáya's arm. "You're going to be fine."

"_No!_" Vinyáya sobbed, wrenching her arm away. "He _left!_ Why!"

Artemis snorted. "Don't be stupid, woman. Why _wouldn't_ he?"

Vinyáya closed her eyes tight, tears pushed free by the closing lids, dropping down her cheeks. It hurt so _much_. "It's his _child!_" She quavered, the cry turning into one of true distress as another contraction—brought on out of rhythm by her stress—shot through her.

"Hmph," Artemis sneered, walking to the door, but not passing through without his parting shot bestowed upon the Wing Commander. "No matter what you do, it will be his child. You're not the only one who had to accept a partner." He shook his head. "Honestly, I'm surprised it took him this long to make his move. Very disappointing."

As the spasm ended, Vinyáya gasped for breath, eyes flashing open, filled with moisture. She glared at the man, as if he were at fault. "He said...he said he wouldn't _leave _me unless I told him to!"

Raising an eyebrow, Artemis murmured, "All that yelling...isn't that what you were doing?"

"NO!" She howled, head falling back to the pillows. She began to sob, more tears escaping the corners of her eyes, flowing thick and free, soaking her pillow. "No...no..._no..."_

* * *

On reflection, Lili realized she should have known better. She should have called in sick. Or insisted on a trade of duties today. Or...well, _anything_ but go on with business as usual. Because she knew Vein well enough. Knew that she had been on the top of his "to do" list since Trouble Kelp had taken her on as his friend and occasional flirting partner. For what Trouble Kelp—star of Retrieval, promoted past the elder Vein, and hailed as a hero among the People—had for himself, Vein saw as his right.

He'd started with that stupid coffee insinuation that had plagued her for the last eleven years. His answer: steaming hot, on my desk, and full of cream, immediately. It was such an uninventive answer that she'd actually obliged in the literal manner, bringing him a cup half-full of weak, but bubbling brew and the other half almost exclusively consisting of plain cream. The rest of that half being a little immature oral donation of her own, which she had done in full sight of the other officers in the break room, who had cheered, having their own private feuds with the sprite.

He wasn't so easily put off. Vein had asked if Lili could take a look at some documents on his screen, for her opinion. She'd asked him to turn the screen around. He'd refused. She'd refused. And then he'd ordered her to review the documents.

It was the sort of order that, before the Frond had joined the LEP, had run rampant in the force. It was not only Holly Short who had brought change to the police. When Princess Lili Frond had ignored all advice against it and finished Academy, there had been an immediate and rigorous change in sexual harassment policy. The Commanders had known that the People at large would have never stood for one of the last royals to be harassed or, worst of all, attacked by an officer of the law. Her first year had seen the sacking of dozens of officers, many of high rank.

Vein had been one of the smart ones, among the less scrupulous. Not reforming, it seemed, but biding his time. Lili considered walking out. No one that mattered—Holly, Trouble, Vinyáya—would blame her. If he brought her before Internal Affairs for insubordination, they would just bow before the royal and hush things up.

She'd thought this until her eyes landed on the half-dozen gleaming medals on Trouble's desk.

She looked at Vein—his wings extended, tips quivering in an anticipated mating dance—and smiled sweetly. "Why...sir, it would be my pl—"

The office door came open with a crash that no doubt heralded the complete destruction of latches, locks, and hinges, and made both officers whip their heads about to address the threat.

Vein growled, wings stretching further to amplify their already considerable span, and stood. "Get _out_, Kelp_."_

"Vein..." Grub took a step into the office, head lowered to charge, baring his teeth. "Do not _fuck_ with me right now."

Before he realized what he was doing, Vein took a step back, his wings coming halfway down. He tried to regain his stature and glare, but Grub had already turned away from the sprite, focusing on Lili, who was watching him with trepidation and confusion.

"Grub...Vinyáya.. She's—"

"Did you mean it?" Grub interrupted.

"I...what?" Lili breathed, feeling a heat rising up the back of her neck.

Grub stepped forward and grabbed Lili's arm, pulling her with him as he exited the office, walking backwards so he could continue looking in her eyes. Watching them. Searching for truth. "You said...if I need _anything..._."

* * *

**Preview: "There's nothing you can say/ Nothing you can do."**

* * *

**Can you all guess what the next chapter is? Can you all guess what I **_**want**_** before it's posted**_**? **_**That's right! So, you want it right away? I demand sixteen reviews, to keep the average up, because me releasing these chapters close together tends to damage the average. The second I see those sixteen, I post. And...**_**baby!**_** And other things, as I'm sure you can see! Go to, good sirs! I am as eager as you!**

**P.S. I think this chapter puts the story at over 260,000 words, which makes this story longer than any of the Harry Potter novels. Though the author's notes fudge the number quite a bit.**


	49. It Comes to an End

**Song: Normally, I'll give this, but I'm trying to not be too spoilery for the, like, most important chapter. Song given at the end of the chapter, with another important note about music.**

* * *

**Chapter 49: It Comes to an End**

"Shhh..." Holly urged as Vinyáya began to sob, everything finally far too much for the normally imperturbable officer. She glared at Artemis for taking up Grub's attack, guiding the bomb of his words into the most destructive epicenter of the Wing Commander's emotions. Holly leaned forward, wiping Vinyáya's limp, wet hair from her face. She was so hot. Surely some sort of alarm should have gone off, sparking the doctors to come back in and place cooling packs all over the woman's body. Or just wheel her away, filling her with sedatives, taking her to a cold bath and surgery, so the major would no longer have to face this sudden, horrible responsibility. If Grub was gone...who else was here to hold onto Vinyáya's hand? Artemis? The father's panicking brother? Some nurse the woman barely knew? No. Just her, despite her earlier job to sweep the hospital for possible attack. "It's okay," Holly lied, praying the Wing Commander was in too much pain to notice the quaver in her voice.. "I'm here."

Rolling his eyes, Artemis began to move out of the room.

"What are you _doing?_" Holly snapped, ready to attack her lover with the nearest projectile. If she was there to support Vinyáya, his new job was to help her, no matter if he had signed on for the responsibility or no.

Artemis shrugged, not because he was confused. He simply failed to care. Part of him was surprised to realize that he had assigned his loyalties closer to Kelp than Vinyáya, after years blackmailing him for instant processing for the Ops Booth. Once the man stopped whining, he was rather tolerable. "There is nothing left for me to do here." He waved at the women, ignoring Holly's choked protests. "I will return if the nurses deem my presence necessary, though I rather suspect Vinyáya would not want to see me, after all I have said." Then he was out of the delivery room, leaving the women-folk to the staff.

Vinyáya was about to throw insults at the ex-con artist's retreat, but was stopped as her muscles began to clench again. She crushed Holly's hand, blackness creeping into the edge of her vision. Her lungs were burning and—

"_Breathe_, Vinyáya!" Holly shouted, gripping back, using her other hand to shake the struggling woman's shoulder. She shot her eyes at the door as it ceased to swing back and forth with her lover's exit. She was irate. Yet she also knew that he was right. His only use, at the moment, was to comfort Holly, and the benefit she could get from the man's presence would be far outweighed by the Councilwoman's rage. "You need to breathe!"

"Breathe! Right!" Vinyáya sucked in air, sight clearing, but the oxygen also brought back her ability to feel all of the pain. And it was more than she thought could possibly exist. "Oh, _gods_..."

"It's okay," whispered Holly, groaning as the contraction ended and the pressure on her hand lessened. She could feel her eyes burning, threatening to moisten and overflow, despite her blinking and screwing up her face, trying to keep it all back. She wasn't the one that was allowed to lose it. Not now. "Just hold on. I'm here. _Please,_ Vinyáya...hold on..."

* * *

Lili looked at Grub. Her mouth felt dry, and her heart was hammering. "Are you...are you sure about this?"

He caught her eyes, and there was no hesitation on his end. "Yes."

Lili began to tremble.

When they made their move, it was in perfect unison.

* * *

Trouble looked up from his clasped hands as Artemis walked through the double doors and into the waiting room. He stood, taking several large steps forward and glancing over his shoulder. "Was that...Grub who just ran out?" He looked back to Artemis, frowning. "He just stole my car keys." It had been two more hours since his brother had gone back into the delivery room, and, after all the rushing nurses and doctors and the yelling, Trouble had risen eagerly, thinking that the labor had progressed faster than anticipated and he was about to accept the duties of being the cool uncle. Instead he'd been practically molested as Grub shoved his hands into various pockets until the keys were located, after which the captain walked away with no words said.

"Yep," Artemis confirmed, not bothering to say more, merely picking the seat next to where Trouble had been occupied and slumping into it, throwing his legs onto the coffee table, which, in defiance of hospitals he was used to, was not actually covered in magazines, but contained a few locked-down data tablets with flashing periodical displays. The People had their little quirks to differentiate themselves from Humanity, but they weren't all that far off, in the end.

Trouble's mouth flapped about as he tried to think of an adequate set of questions to throw at the genius. _Someone_ had to know what this was all about, and that responsibility lay on Fowl ninety-nine percent of the time. Unfortunately, the one percent when he failed to do his duty involved women, and this most certainly involved one of those dangerous creatures.

When he was unable to get a proper question set that would somehow exonerate his little brother by the end, he went back to his seat, now nearly doubled over as he cradled his head between his hands, looking straight at the floor. "What did he _do_?"

"Left." Artemis said simply, scooting further down and draping an arm over his eyes to block out the harsh lighting. He could suddenly see why Grub used to complain about this sort of thing at the LEP.

"_Why?_"

With his non-guarding arm, Artemis waved about in a disinterested fashion. "He's _your_ brother. Why do _you_ think he'd leave?"

The Commander gritted his teeth as he ventured, "Family tradition?" Even though the words were his own, he cringed. Was that what his family would become, in the end? The same mistake every generation? Would he end up doing the same when he became a father?

"Really?" Shrugging, Artemis took his second arm back, putting it under his head to act as a pillow. It would be asleep from the pressure in a few minutes, but hopefully he would be as well. Besides, he found his magic's reaction to a numb limb to be fairly amusing, so he was willing to deal with the temporary incapacitation.

"D'arvit!" Trouble slammed his hands down on the armrests, making Fowl jump and glare. "He _wouldn't!_ Whatever he did...he didn't just _leave_...right?" He turned to Fowl, who again shrugged, wholly unconcerned.

"I suppose there's only one way to find out, Commander."

"Being?"

The former human yawned, squirming until he deemed himself completely comfortable, or as much as could be managed in the discount seating. "We do what every man waiting outside of a delivery room has done since the beginning of time."

"What's that?"

Artemis briefly lifted his top arm so he could narrow his eyes at Trouble. His voice was its normal sarcastic, infuriating monotone. "We _wait_, of course. Now, if you don't mind?" When Trouble just stared at him, astonished, Artemis nodded. "Thank you." Then he lowered his arm and schooled his breathing, slipping into an uncomfortable sleep as he tried to block Vinyáya's none-too-distant cries from his receptive ears.

* * *

Ask a doctor who the star in a hospital room is, and they will proudly point a thumb at their chest and proceed to regale you with a series of unbelievable emergencies that they breezed through with little more reaction than an artfully raised eyebrow and a non-groan-inducing pun. Now, get them _alone_ and slightly liquored up, and they will sob out the truth: those angels of the emergency room, the nurses, were the ones who held the patient down as they tried to steady their supposedly rock-steady surgical hand for a simple injection. The nurses were the ones who reminded them, when caffeine had been in short supply, that there is a _huge_ difference between multiplying by one half and multiplying by two. And the nurses were the ones who assured the pregnant woman that all of this was _completely _normal, and you _really_ should have seen the kind of stuff the last pregnant woman was doing during the last delivery.

Perhaps this idea would have comforted Vinyáya, but she still wanted there to be a doctor in the room, and none was in evidence.

"_Where is he?_" She screamed at a passing supervisor nurse, who was differentiate from the others by the addition of a green bandanna to compliment her green smock. If asked to repeat her question with the name of the particular missing male, Vinyáya would have stared at the questioner for a long time before informing them that _she_ was the Councilwoman here, and _she_ did not have to answer questions, _you_ did. However, the nurse had other things to do, and kept going, since the question had been asked plenty of times already.

Holly, wisely, was not asking any questions. Or saying anything at all, for the matter. She was merely squeaking in pain at each crush on her hand, suddenly understanding why Grub had gone for a forearm grip. If things continued this way, she would be headed back to the surface at the next full moon to perform the Ritual, and her hand _still_ wouldn't feel right after. She now understood why Artemis had suggested that his house-mate be Vinyáya's guard (for, indeed, it was he that had put her name on top of the list, despite Holly's no-longer-subtle demands for insemination). This, more effectively than anything else, had reset her biological clock by at _least_ another decade.

Ninja-like, the gnome head nurse ducked her head under the privacy blanket that was draped almost all of the way from Vinyáya's chest to the floor, and was there for a few seconds, delicately moving things aside. When she came back up, she barked orders to her companions, who paled. At another, harsher bark, half of them disappeared, and the remaining few opened the equipment cabinets, pulling out blankets and other items.

Vinyáya, who had just finished yet another contraction (she hated that word...hell, she would probably hate the word "contract" from now on, just because it started the same way), observed the commotion with frightened eyes. "What...what's going on?"

The head nurse went to the sink and scrubbed her hands, turning to receive a pair of gloves from her assistants. "You're fully dilated, Councilwoman. The baby will be here in a few minutes."

"He _what?_" The woman yelled, trying to sit up and clamp her legs together, to keep the child inside, but found herself hindered by utter exhaustion. She collapsed to the bed, panting, looking about wildly "_No!_ Where's Grub? Where's the doctor?"

"I've no idea where your ex is, ma'am, and the same goes for Dr. Ginko." She was brisk, but her eyes were kind. She could only be so comforting in this position, and making sure she didn't lose her authority was more important than temporarily allaying the woman's fears. "The hospital is understaffed, like _everything_ in Haven, but I've sent out the nurses to fetch another doctor to step in, wherever _they've_ all gone off to." She shook her head, looking at the door, as if any second someone with a bit more education, but a lot less sense than her, would come in to take over. When none barged through to steal the show, she turned back. "I've done this on my own before, ma'am, and nothing seems to be wrong." She paused to slap Vinyáya's thigh, opting for the stance of a rough matron instead of the more scientific authority the mostly-male doctors opted for. "It'll all be over in a few minutes."

Vinyáya was trying to breathe, she really was, but each puff came quick and inadequate, so it took until the end of the nurse's speech for her to bare her teeth and manage, "He's not myyyaaaaaaaah!"

Vinyáya slammed her head back down, startling Holly, who placed her hand on the woman's forehead to prevent further destructive crashes. "Where _is_ he?"

"I-I don't know," Holly babbled, looking at the door. "I don't know. I'm here. Vinyáya, I'm here."

"Where's _Grub?_" Vinyáya demanded, tears streaking out of the corner of her eyes. "He should _be _here. I need him!"

Holly bit her lip. "I-I'm here. I'm here Vinyáya."

Vinyáya turned her head, looking at Holly, though her vision was blurry from her body's utterly stressed condition and the tears in her eyes. She shook her head. "But I don't want _you_. I want_ Grub."_

Squeezing back on the woman's slippery hand, Holly looked away. "I'm sorry."

Vinyáya sobbed, nuzzling into Holly's hand, desperate for some form of comfort. "Gods...me, too."

* * *

Trouble looked green. "Is she..._dying_ or something?"

Artemis groaned. "Of _course_ not. There would be a _lot_ more people in there if she was."

"But...she sounds—"

"Like someone trying to defy physics via their bodily orifices?"

"Will you _stop_ sounding so _damn smug_, Fowl?" Trouble bellowed, again taking to his feet. He wasn't thinking clearly, but he was _fairly_ certain a lot of the world's present issues would be solved by a good punch to someone's face, and the genius was the only man present, at the moment. He brought his hand up to accomplish this monumental task.

The doors behind him hissed open.

Artemis finally raised his arm an inch, barely able to peek through the gap this created. Despite seeing Trouble before him, fist at the ready though distracted for a moment by the door, he barely focused before snorting and glancing past with a smug little nod. "About _damn_ time. Traffic?"

* * *

There was yelling from the hall outside of the delivery room. "Sir! Sir, you can't come back in..._doctor?"_

Holly looked up, praying it would be one of the blue-clad doctors, here to relieve her of her responsibilities. _Any_ doctor. She'd even take a podiatrist, if he told her she could leave.

Holly gasped as a nurse burst through the swinging door, holding it open and waving her hands frantically at Nurse Eda, as if the woman would understand the flailing sign language. If the gnome's raised brows were any indication, she just might have.

"What?" Vinyáya moaned into the sudden silence, squeezing her eyes shut. They were bringing the knives, she knew it. She was going to be cut open by _assistants!_

"D'...arvit..." Holly whispered

It was such an odd tone. Vinyáya couldn't place it, and Holly said no more. That was it. She knew it. The big knives. Unavoidable. Her nightmares had been premonitions, after all. She had to see. Had to accept what was about to happen to her. If this was the end, she would face it head-on, as she always had. She lifted her head and opened her eyes.

She couldn't breathe.

Grub marched down the hall, hair even more unkempt than usual, pressed hard against his head, as if he'd been in a strong wind. His eyes were steely as the nurse backed away from the door, still holding the edge, but letting him in without protest.

He looked through the door and caught Vinyáya's eyes.

Then he smiled, as if nothing had happened to make him flee, finally walking through the entryway, stopping a few feet before the bed. "I'm back," he said simply, bringing his arm from behind his back, dragging someone else to the foreground.

Vinyáya wanted to gasp, but she had no air. She was trying everything the video had taught her, but she could not regain nearly enough to make a noise, much less think. What was going _on_?

"Grub, why do you have that man tied up!" Holly demanded, leaving Vinyáya's side, whipping a pen knife from her pocket and cutting through the zip ties around an elderly elf's wrists. Lifting off the motorcycle helmet he had been wearing, she found that he was also gagged, and untied that, as well.

Grub glared at his prisoner, allowing him to be unbound as he walked away. "That's our doctor. He was on Principality Hill," Grub said, ending at Vinyáya's side, turning to face the room, hands held behind his back, much as the physicians had been moments ago. It was the LEP at-ease position, and he awaited his orders dutifully. "I suppose he didn't remember that I know Lili, and she could get me up the Hill." He smirked. "We made a bit of a spectacle, tackling him at the sand trap."

Spitting out the fibers from his gag, Dr. Ginko turned to the nurses. "Call security. Commander's brother or no, I want this man arrested! This is a kidnapping!"

Holly rolled her eyes. "Men these days," she muttered. "Can't take a little thing like being held hostage..."

Vinyáya looked up at Grub, too muddled by pain and the illogical events to work things out. "What...why did you...see Frond?" She remembered what he'd said about the beauty. She _wanted_ it.

"The country club." Captain Kelp looked down at her, and his eyes lost all the hardness directed at the obstetrician, momentarily ashamed, though this dispersed as he glanced for the briefest moment at Ginko, remembering exactly why he had gone to see his ex. "He was up on the Hill _golfing_. He wasn't going to induce until eight because he was in the tournament."

Vinyáya finally raised her head completely, taking in the doctor's short-sleeved shirt, plaid pants, and the few grass stains on his knees. She couldn't see that far, but she was fairly certain he would be wearing a ridiculous pair of shoes with quite a bit of grass stuck to the sides. She hissed, "You _what_?"

"I knew you'd agree," Grub chuckled. "Now," he went on, looking straight at Ginko, "are you going to deliver this baby, or do you want to finish that back nine?"

Ginko stormed forward, thrusting a finger in the father's face, spittle flying in his rage. "Now, you listen here, _boy!_"

Why exactly Grub should listen was lost to the ages, as Ginko had made the mistake many, many men made before they died.

He'd come too close to Vinyáya.

Her arm shot out, long nails digging into the doctor's wrist. She twisted her grip about and up, making the physician drop to his knees, crying in pain, watching, puzzled, as four lines of blood flowed down his wrist.

"No, _you_ listen!" Vinyáya ordered, mustering her strength so she could lean over the side of the bed, face in breathing distance of the doctor's. "You can posture all you want later, but if you do not do the duty that you took an _oath_ to perform and help someone in a medical crisis, gods help you, because I will bring your name up at the next Council meeting with a recommendation to interview every patient you've taken on for the last _twenty years_ for evidence of malpractice!"

Grub nodded. "And I'll tell my mother!"

Vinyáya paused. Then she looked up at him, eyebrows raised sardonically.

He shrugged. "What? She could write a column on it. She'll ruin his reputation."

"...thanks." Vinyáya smiled.

Then she looked back at Ginko, nails cutting in deeper, moving muscle aside as she made her gradual way to bone. All teeth were bared as she talked, her tongue undulating about them, preparing the sharpest ones for a satisfying mauling._"Are we clear, doctor?_"

Ginko nodded most enthusiastically.

"Super!" Vinyáya retracted her claws, allowing Ginko to stagger backwards, nodding in approval when he healed swiftly and staggered to the sink to scrub in.

Grub watched Ginko go, not turning away until the man glanced back at the pair and squeaked, scrubbing harder, as if he was being judged on every aspect of his performance.

The captain faced Vinyáya and swallowed hard, licking his lips. "I'm...sorry," he croaked. "For what I said. I shouldn't..." He looked down, eyes closed, shoulders slumping. "I should have explained why I was going."

Vinyáya considered this. It all hurt so much, still. Her body, of course, but even more so, the words. It had been years since something someone had said had cut her so deeply, in the perfect spots. Being one of the first women in the force had made her immune to most insults. Bitch. Slut. Cunt. Whore. All seeming so similar, but with their own subtle permutation. She'd even taken on several physical attacks in the Academy, and come out without a scratch, after which officers had learned of her fighting skills. That was when they'd tried using words to get her compliance, which she had found all the more amusing.

With all that, she'd never expected this low-ranked, weak man had true poison darts.

Gently, Vinyáya reached out until she found Grub's hand. She squeezed it, but nowhere near as tightly as she would soon do during her next contraction, which was not far off. "You...came back."

She felt him turn, and a hand brushed her forehead, smoothing back damp, darkened hair. "Of course," he whispered, and she could hear the smile in his words. "I told you, Vinyáya. I won't leave you. Not for long." He laughed, stroking his thumb along her cheek. "Even if you know how to piss me off like no other person I've ever met."

She blushed and squeezed again. One was really not supposed to blush over being able to enrage someone, right? "Then...I suppose, with all the shit I've said to you before, I'm willing to call it even."

"I...really don't expect you to," Grub admitted, voice weak.

"Yes, well. I _want_ to, so shut the fuck up."

Then her next contraction came and the argument had to be at least paused. She grunted and ground her teeth, trying to restrain her grip. Make it manageable.

But Grub covered her hand with his own and squeezed back, murmuring that it was okay, and she let herself give into the pain, holding onto everything she could to make sure she wouldn't be destroyed.

Grub whimpered, tears of pain coming to his eyes, but kept whispering. "I'm here. I'm back. I'm sorry."

"D-don't be!" She yelled as the pain ended. There was no denying, the spasms were coming faster and stronger with every repeat. Longer, as well, giving her almost no time to collect herself.

Grub reached over and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I am."

She tugged on his hand, bringing it to her face, trying to hide within their clasped palms. "And I said 'don't be,' you idiot. Will you ever _listen_ to me?"

Laughing, he shook his head. "Probably not, no."

Across the room, Ginko accepted a pair of gloves from the head nurse, who glared straight into his eyes as he donned the coverings, making him look back like a mouse facing down a cobra. When she pulled back the bottom edge and let it go with a snap that the entire room could hear, then turned away, he had to shake his head to get back in control. "Well...uh...all aboard who's staying about. Everyone else, _out_."

Holly looked at Grub. Her fingers twitched, then curled into fists. "You're here now, Captain?"

He smiled weakly and nodded.

She narrowed her eyes, walking forward with purpose.

Holly Short really has only a few purposes, and only one was ever directed at Grub, so he should have expected her fist to crash into his cheek, but it still took him by surprise. He staggered, head spinning, blue sparks behind his eyes.

"Good." Holly snapped, and smiled brightly, her little release of the day finally taken. "See that it stays that way." Snapping her heels together, she saluted Vinyáya, not expecting the traditional response. Doing a 180 that seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, she marched out of the delivery room, door swinging closed behind her.

Grub rubbed his jaw, delighted. "Either she's not hitting me as hard, or I'm getting used to that."

"Places, everyone!" Ginko barked, and, finding the nurses all glaring at him, amended the order with a small, "...please?" At which point they looked at one another and nodded in unison, taking their stations.

Grub looked about, trying to find his chair. He walked towards the foot of the bed, loosening his grip, but found himself unable to continue the circuit, the mother's hand having tightened.

He turned to her, head lowered, somewhat ashamed to leave, even if he was only going a foot away, for a maximum of ten seconds. "I need to sit down, Vinyáya, or I am going to faint."

She nodded, hair falling back into her face for a moment before she lifted her head to meet his eyes. "I know. But...I thought...like we practiced...on the couch."

He didn't understand, at first. Then he remembered, sputtering, "What...are you..." When she nodded, he grinned. "R-right! I...um..." He came back to the head of the bed, holding the weakened woman into a sitting position as he pushed the pillows against the headboard to make room. Kicking off his shoes, he raised one knee next to the mattress, waiting there a moment. Perhaps needing a final approval, in case she had changed her mind, as she was so wont to do.

"If I have a contraction while sitting like this, Grub, I will not be held responsible for the names I call you, and that will totally ruin our being even. So I'd advise you to _hurry up."_

"Right!" He finished sliding onto the bed, leaning against the headboard and crossing his legs as close to his body as he could manage. Once settled, he eased Vinyáya down until her back rested low on his chest, shifting their arms so he now cupped both of her hands. "Good?"

She looked up at him. "Yeah. It's good." Her lips twitched and she rested her head on his chest, humming softly.

He swallowed, looking to the foot of the bed, face turning pink. Remembering what the position was for, he took a deep breath, his chest making Vinyáya's body rise with him.

Her body remembered the night of short breath and flashed lust, and she began to breathe in unison with him, closing her eyes again, feeling for the pound of his heart at her back. It was going so _fast_, but his breaths were coached into a reasonable rate, and she rose and fell according to his mandate.

Yet she knew it wasn't quite right.

Slowly, she twisted her hands about, escaping his cupped palms.

"Sorry," Grub whispered, starting to take his hands back, to lay them at his hips, out of the way.

Before they were out of reach, Vinyáya caught them again, both of their palms cupped together, lacing her fingers with his, holding tight.

Grub stared at their hands, mouth open a fraction. Hesitantly, certain this wasn't allowed (as _all_ of this surely wasn't allowed), he let his fingers fall, clutching her hands tightly, not even noticing when she gasped as another jolt of pain tore through her, making the woman clutch at him stronger than ever before. He just watched their twined fingers, memorizing the sight. His, then hers. His, then hers. "Breathe, Vinyáya," he whispered, taking in air and letting it out in the same rhythm. "Breathe with me."

She did.

They moved in perfect unison. When she squeezed his hands and gasped in pain, he clutched back, whispering that he was there, though he wasn't sure if she could hear him in these moments, or what sort of comfort she would derive from such an idea. When he breathed out, so did she, and when he breathed in, they were both filled, minds momentarily flying free of their bodies, at least some of the pain left behind as they sought for the rhythm of the other.

Then came the words from down below: "All right, Councilwoman! On the next contraction, _push_!"

"Oh, gods, I have to _push_ now?" She cried, letting her head bang against Grub's sternum. "Can't you just..._pull it out_ or something?"

She felt the hard support at her back rock as Grub laughed. "Come on, Vinyáya. Any second now." When he felt her body tense, he cried out with the doctor. "Push!"

She screamed, then screamed louder as she felt something move. Dear _gods_, what did she have in there? A _car_?

"Good!" Ginko crowed, already getting back into things, despite his earlier reticence. "I think I see something. Yes...whew, this one has a full head of hair. Get ready for the next one!"

"NO!" Vinyáya howled. "I'm _done_, I told you! Get it out _now!_"

"Working on it! Push!"

She did, instinct working despite her exhaustion, and the pressure was suddenly immense. Whatever was really inside her, it needed to be out, and it needed to be out _now_, one way or another. As the contraction ended, she called out, "Can I keep pushing? _Please!_"

"Not yet! Rest!" Ginko warned her. "One more, and make it a good one!"

Grub squeezed her hands, trying to be encouraging. "Just one more, okay? You're _so close!_"

It hit her, and she pushed, and felt things move. Things that should move and others she was _damn _sure should stay right in the places they had been all her life. As the pain (or at least the larger pain, as _everything_ hurt now) subsided, she panted, looking down at the doctor, hidden under the covers. "Done? Are we done?" Baby. Where was the baby. Why didn't she hear a baby?

Ginko popped his head up from behind the privacy blanket. "One more!"

"_YOU FUCKING LIAR! YOU SAID THAT THE LAST TIME!_"

Ginko's eyes went wide and he disappeared under the sheet.

"I _hate_ him!" Vinyáya snarled.

Grub beamed. "I'm glad we agree. Now, _push!_"

It went on forever. She left her body entirely, and there was nothing but a white light, without the simple comfort of illumination. This was one that burned into her, setting every molecule in her body on fire. The very electrons of her atoms gained energy and flew away. She was dying. She knew it. Her final act would be to bring this life forth, and then she would seem to drift away. But her mind would be stuck in this agony long after they pronounced her dead. She would be like this forever. Never before had she believed in the human notion of Hell, but this had to be it. After all of her years flaunting laws while protected by her position in Haven and trampling over everyone in her path, thinking that it was her due, there was nowhere else for her to go.

Whatever was being said around her, she couldn't understand or respond. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She was gone...this was it...

_Wait...I never...said..._

_..._

Cold. No, not...cold. _Cool_. And...wet.

It brought her back. There was light, still, but it looked so much dimmer, after the fire. And...what was this? It was on her arm...

Vinyáya turned her head to see water dripping down her shoulder, darkening her mocha skin. She blinked at it, confused. Had she...sprung a leak? With all the pushing, had the pressure not gone to the baby, but punched a hole through her skin?

Then new drops appeared, and they did not well up from within her skin, but splashed down. It wasn't her. It was...

She looked up.

Tears streamed down Grub's face. He was looking straight ahead, and there was no sobbing, nor did he try to withhold the tears or fight for a masculine visage to deny them.

Finally noticing her focus on him, he glanced down, smiling. So very soft, in all things. "You did it." Then he looked forward again, breathing out the words. "You did it."

Vinyáya looked down.

It was so..._small_. The skin paler than hers, but still a healthy brown, if covered in a lot of red and white stuff. She did her best to not think about what_ that _was. And...well, the head was sort of oddly shaped, but no one seemed to be reacting in horror, so she guess that was normal. And...dear _gods_, it's hands were so _tiny_, but it was shaking them about frantically, as if trying to fight off the world. Which made sense, considering all of his violent attacks in-utero.

She seemed to be taking it in sense by sense, and the next was sound. A shrill cry that seemed _angry_, and she commiserated. It must be _cold_ out there. Arnica was hot and sweating, but she felt like she'd run a marathon in record time. What must it be thinking, that little...

"My baby..." She finally whispered. It sounded so..._strange_. Was that really her child? Did that little creature just come out of her?

Grub squeezed her hands even tighter. "Yes." He seemed exhausted, resting his forehead on the back of her head, breathing deeply of this rare, precious scent of pain and sweat and birth. "Beautiful."

Perhaps Ginko was trying hard to appease him, or maybe he was experiencing the customary birth euphoria that all of the slow-breeding People felt. Either way, he was grinning so genuinely that everyone seemed to forgive the method of his summons. He handed the baby off to a nurse who was ready with a towel, securing it against the cold of the world. He turned to Grub and Vinyáya, letting out a triumphant huff. "Well! Which of you wants to cut the cord?"

Grub blinked. Vinyáya could feel his eyelashes moving in her hair, and he raised his head again, leaning over her so he could meet her eyes. He was so close she could actually feel the words coming out. "Do you mind...could I...?"

She laughed, hissing a little as it made her sore diaphragm flutter. "Of course, Grub. I don't think I'll be able to get down there."

He hugged her tight, wrapping both of their arms around her chest in a fit of emotion, nuzzling against her cheek. "Thank you!" Before he could rethink that move and worry about her reaction, he helped Vinyáya sit forward, easing out from under her and rearranging the pillows so she would not feel his lack too much.

She found he failed utterly in this, but didn't blame him. There was no substituting the real thing, after all.

She watched as the new father reverently approached, glancing about, hoping someone would explain what to do, though he surely had read something in his home library. He eased as two clamps were placed on the cord, with a gap between giving him a clear target, but tensed again as he was handed a pair of scissors. He looked at them, swallowing. "Er...don't you have something...I don't know...less sharp?"

Ginko laughed. "What, you want to saw at it?" As Grub turned white, he held out a steadying hand. "There are no nerve endings, Mr. Kelp. No one is going to feel a thing, unless you hit your head when you faint."

"Right." Grub seemed to zoom in on the cord, hands shaking as he brought the surgical scissors in close. Readying himself with a deep, held breath, he squeezed his hands, cutting neatly through. He smiled for a moment, then paled even further. "T-there's blood! What did I do wrong!"

Ginko laughed uproariously, clamping a hand on Grub's shoulder, keeping a firm grip in case the man lost it and finally fainted. "You did _fine_. It _does_ bleed. That's normal."

The gnome head nurse wrapped the baby up completely, scratching its chin and cooing a little welcome, which helped to settle the crying. Turning to the parents, she held her out the bundle. "Well, Councilwoman...do you fell well enough to hold your daughter?"

Vinyáya's eyes shot open, a last jolt of energy filling her at the word. "D-daughter?" She watched as Grub took the child first, holding it...holding _her_ close to his chest, looking down at the tiny face. "B-but...the nursery...you...it's _blue_. What happened?"

Grub looked up at her and snickered, enjoying her shocked expression at the reveal of his four-and-a-half month long deception. "Really, Vinyáya? With all of the women we know who could beat me senseless? I was _not_ going to paint her room pink. I'd never wake up from the coma."

Arnica let her head fall back to the pillows. She wanted to be as amused as he, but she was just too tired. "A very...good point."

Finding the chair that he had been sitting in before his self-imposed exodus, Grub brought it to the side of the bed, scooting as close as he could and sitting down slowly. "She's..." he smiled, shaking his head. "The father always thinks his child is beautiful." He paused, then spoke even more softly. "The father..." He leaned down and kissed the girl's forehead, his nose moving some of the blankets aside. When he looked at her face again, he blinked. Then chuckled, looking at Vinyáya. "She, uh...looks sort of like you."

Reluctantly, he handed the child over to Vinyáya, who took it carefully. Her eyes darted around the face, trying to identify what features Grub had noticed, but couldn't. Then, following his pointed finger, she looked just a fraction higher and gasped. "She has my _hair!_"

"Not _just_ yours," Grub said proudly, pulling the blanket back a bit to reveal a downy expanse of blotchy hair, silver and bright orange interspersed. "She's going to spend her entire life looking like a juvenile delinquent." He cooed at the baby. "_My_ little juvenile delinquent."

"Stop that," Vinyáya snapped, but there was a tease in her tone. "The last thing she needs with two officers as parents is an advance track record. Have a little faith." And the last thing she had expected for the child was silver hair, since her own had not changed until she was well into adulthood. Genetics and magic, it seemed, had struck again.

Ginko was washing up, and he looked rather proud of himself, despite how he had been brought into the office. The nurses were rolling their eyes, but he didn't notice, merely pulling up a data tablet. "We'll leave you three alone to bond, and come back in an hour to do the standard tests, but I have to say, she looks magnificent. Before we go, do you have a name?"

Grub suddenly looked blank. "Oh." He scowled. "I _knew_ I forgot something..."

Vinyáya stared at him, jaw dropped. "Of all the things...you didn't come up with a _name_?" She managed a few laughs, more rapid, shocked exhales than true mirth, each of which shot lightning bolts of pain up and down her spine, centering in her genitals. "You're the one who actually _knew_ what gender she was!"

He shrugged. "Hey, there was a lot to think of."

"Oh, really? I was under the assumption that names get put pretty high up."

"Fine, fine," he muttered, conceding defeat. Post-birth was not the ideal time for an argument. He could accept defeat in the name of peace. "Let me think a bit. Um...'Hannah.'"

Vinyáya blinked.

"Okay, okay, too girly." He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "'Jodie,' and we could call her 'Joe.' It's gender neutral," he reasoned.

Vinyáya shook her head, feeling her stomach drop. "That won't work." She hadn't expected the desire that had just come over her, but...'Jodie' would certainly not work.

Grub sighed, finding this to be too much work after his trying day. "_Why_ won't they work? Do you want something completely masculine, like 'Earl' or something? If we're going masculine, we're taking my father's name."

The wing commander spoke softly. "She needs a nature name, Grub."

He took a long time to work out why she would think that, and all the time he was frowning. When he finally understood, Grub was all shock, though it seemed to be readily blending into outrage. Every elf needed at least one part of their name to reference something in nature; most commonly, a plant. Even Artemis squeaked through with "Fowl." Grub knew this well enough. And knew that picking it as the first name meant. "_No she won't!_" He gripped the edge of the bed, rapidly looking between mother and daughter. "She doesn't need a nature name! She has 'Kelp' already!"

"Grub...no...she doesn't."

"But...but..." He actually repeated this for a long time, his tears about to return. "Vinyáya, please, she's my _daughter_." It was an argument he had repeated countless times, this instance only slightly altered by gender, but no less distressed. "You can't block me out _now!_" He was shaking, tremors rocking the bed.

"I'm _not,_" she soothed, wishing she could reach out to hold his hand and still keep a firm grip on the child. "Not at all. It's just..." She hung her head. "My family has never had a lot of children, and with the spelltropy epidemic and just deaths in general...have you ever heard of someone else with the name 'Vinyáya'?"

After a long time trying to deny it, Grub set his jaw and shook his head.

"I just...I want to keep the family name going for at_ least _one more generation." Arnica Vinyáya was not going to cry. The crier in this room was right in front of her (and she supposed she held another in her arms), and it would accomplish nothing. She had given up on such tactics after her first week in Academy. "Grub..._please_. You have your brother to continue things. I don't have anyone." Vinyáya winced at how weak it sounded. Shouldn't she have just yelled at him, told him _this_ was how it was going to be, and _too bad_ if he disagreed?

Gods. Had that ever actually _worked_ before?

Grub looked away, trying to keep his heart in line. It wouldn't work. She wouldn't get to him with that tone...she'd used much stronger tones. Nor her reasoning. Surely, if they looked it up, someone else carried on the name. She...had just never bothered to look it up before. That had to be it. There was some distant relative, probably in Atlantis of the smaller colonies. Someone so distant they didn't even try to contact the lofty Councilwoman. He repeated names in his head. Hannah Kelp. Jodie Kelp. Megan Kelp. Alexis Kelp. Each sounded perfect to him. Right. _His._

He looked at the nurses and doctor, all of whom watched with baited breath. What in the world must they think of parents that hadn't at least negotiated last-name rights? Could he persuade her to hyphenate? Would she find it acceptable? Would _he?_

Grub let his head fall until it tapped on the metal side of the bed. "Fine..._fine, _she can be a Vinyáya."

In an instant, the female officer's face cleared, relieved, and the smile she gave him was radiant. The nurses seemed just as pleased at the concession, which was more uncommon among the People than among humans, though Ginko just tapped his stylus on the tablet, waiting. "Thank you, Grub. I—"

"BUT!" He broke in, head snapping up, hand following it to halt her words. "Since you chose the last name, I get to pick _whatever_ first name I want. No arguments. Got it?"

Slowly, somewhat off-kilter from the unexpected response, Vinyáya nodded. "O...okay."

Once the word was out of her mouth, she felt a souring in her stomach. That had _such_ potential for failure, if the father's name was any indication. Plus, she didn't even _know_ what Trouble's real name was, but he'd changed it in the Academy, so it must have horrific, even back then. And_ Manfred_ Kelp. What fairy other than the officer had sported such a name?_ Not 'Da__isy,' _ she thought frantically. _Not 'Daisy.' _Anything_ but 'Daisy.'_

After a few seconds of deep thought, Grub sat up straight, taking on a dorky grin, which he turned on mother and child.

_Oh...balls_.

"Yarrow."

Vinyáya opened her mouth to protest, then paused. She processed the name slowly. "Yarrow?"

He nodded.

"Er...any reason why?"

He shrugged, smiling, but said no more, keeping his secret.

Ginko mumbled to himself as he wrote down the information. "Yarrow Vinyáya. Mother: Arnica Vinyáya. Father: Grub Kelp." He looked up. "That right?"

Vinyáya looked to Grub, who nodded. "Exactly."

* * *

As they suspected, all tests were normal. Even the slight conical shape of the head was just a normal effect of going through the birth canal, and the nurses assured the parents that it would be down to roundness in a few days. They also reassured Vinyáya that nursing would not hurt for very long, but she still looked nervous whenever the baby cried. Still, she had been through a lot more pain in her life, and the little twinges as her milk got going were almost negligible. Grub also babbled something about oxytocin and forgetting the pain entirely, but she thought he was full of shit. There was no forgetting a day like this.

Vinyáya was to be kept at least overnight, and the nurses began to make very stern remarks about visiting hours to Grub around three hours after visiting hours _actually_ ended. Fathers were allowed to remain in the room, to a certain extent, but the mother's rest was considered a paramount concern. Finally, he gave his Book-vow that he would leave after just five more minutes alone with his child and partner in the recovery room, and the nurses had slunk off, muttering darkly to each other about getting a guard to take out the officer, should he renege on his words.

Grub spent the first of these few minutes just cradling Yarrow, humming as he gloried in the feel of baby skin. It was addictive, as was her smell, and the sound of her breathing. Nine months and countless trials, and it was so _easy_ to do. Not only was it easy, he was allowed to do this whenever he _wanted_...he couldn't ask for more.

Yarrow had been sleeping, but the baby awoke in his arms, yawning. Her eyes—which, like most newborns, currently had a blue tint, though Grub suspected they would mostly stay that way, perhaps resembling her mother's own gray shade more than his green—opened and searched his face, infant mind memorizing one of her protectors. She wasn't capable of much expression, as of yet, but when he offered her his finger, she grasped it, holding with impressive strength.

He leaned down and nuzzled his nose to her soft forehead, just at the hair line, breathing deep. When he came up, he saw that Vinyáya had been studying them. He blushed under her gaze, cradling his daughter lower to his chest. "She's pretty comfy. I was worried she'd fuss every time I picked her up." He joggled his finger, increasing the strength each time, until she lost her grip and fussed, at which point he gave his hand back over. "Do you think she likes me?" He again evaluated that little face, looking for any trace of emotion.

Vinyáya bit her lower lip. "Of...of course." Her throat felt so dry...it made her voice crack as she spoke, and that made her heart leap with so many emotions, so tangled together. "She...loves you."

Grub's head snapped up. His mouth opened briefly, but no sound came out, and as it closed he glanced back at Yarrow. Time was running out, and she didn't need to be alone when she could be with one of her parents. Walking to Vinyáya's side, Grub made moves to hand the child over.

Nervously, Vinyáya took her, glad that Yarrow did not start crying, which would probably mean another feeding. The first time had been both mortifying and somehow a relief, with the pressure on her breasts abating with each sharp suck. Despite what a visual inspection of the girl's mouth told her, she was sure the infant had teeth. Probably retractable.

Perhaps she _should_ have read the books along with Grub. Well, the pregnancy was over, so maybe she would look into the next round of materials. _Maybe_.

Grub hovered over them, enjoying the sight of mother and daughter together. _My girls..._ he mused, feeling his chest swell. Pride. That wasn't something he felt very often. Not such a justifiable pride. Narcissism, he certainly felt quite often, but that was all about him. There was only a little of him in this, and that was only insomuch as he had managed to remain in the scene to the very end, despite the woman's initial desires and his own innumerable mistakes.

He licked his lips. An idea that had been forming in his head for quite some time finally grew to overtake his sense. He wanted to do it so much, but...should he? Could he? There was certainly no better moment...

Holding his breath, Grub leaned down, lips brushing Vinyáya's forehead.

She started at the contact, head whipping back, and looked straight up into his eyes.

"S-sorry," he stammered, pulling back.

"It's...fine, Grub." Lids fluttering at first, Vinyáya closed her eyes. Her lips parted just a fraction.

Grub felt like the world must have stopped. He looked down on those wet lips, and for a moment he didn't know what to do. Surely...she wasn't...

She didn't move, breathing softly, but quickly.

Holding his own breath once more, Grub let his head drift down...slow...hesitant...until he felt warm lips against his own. Warm lips that moved with his, matching perfectly, drawing him further down. Mixing him in with her in a way that he had never felt before. He lost himself and did not want to be found again.

"Ahem!" A voice called from the door.

Grub's head jerked back and he looked to the nurse in the doorway. "Uh...er..." He flushed, all the blood that had taken a brief sabbatical southward shooting up to his cheeks.

Vinyáya was matching him in color, though she was not what you would call "embarrassed." No, that wasn't what the fire sprung from. She glared at the nurse, one corner of her lips rising to display an incisor.

"Now, now, you two," the pixie chided, coming forward and laying a hand on Grub's shoulder, pulling him back from his women-folk. "I know what you must be thinking, but there will be none of that for at _least_ two weeks."

Grub squeaked, eyes wide, and waved his hands, trying to negate the woman's words. "N-no, I was—"

"I _don't_ want to hear it. She needs time to recover, so you can keep it in your pants until then!"

"B-b-but—"

"Quiet, you!" The pixie nurse began to push Grub towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Vinyáya. "The same goes for you, Miss. No tempting him with your wicked ways!"

Even more teeth.

Chuckling, the nurse dimmed the lights until they were all out but out, closing the door behind her, leaving Vinyáya completely alone with her daughter for the first time that day.

Vinyáya sighed. _Well...that went well_. She looked down at Yarrow, and her brows furrowed. "Hello." She raised a hand and wiggled her fingers.

Yarrow looked up for her, eyes blurry, then yawned again and closed her eyes, quickly drifting back into sleep.

"Well, at least you're not being difficult." The Wing Commander let her head fall back to the pillows, tightening her grip on the child, though she was relieved to note that the security siding had been left up on the bed, in case she did lose her grip when sleep took over.

"You...came out of me, you know that?"

Vinyáya waited for some sort of response from the infant. Not a big soliloquy or anything. But a gurgle. A squirm. Even a sudden tantrum at the horrible notion. Yarrow did nothing but continue with her nap, allowing her mother a few hours of respite until the next awkward feeding.

One by one, tears began to fall from the corners of Vinyáya's eyes. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound. She would never. Could never. Not after everything that had happened today. This...this was nothing.

Nothing.

* * *

**Preview: "So let me come to you/ close as I wanna be./ Close enough for me/ to feel your heart beating fast./ And stay there as I whisper./ How I loved your peaceful eyes on me./ And did you ever know/ that I had mine on you?"**

* * *

**Song: "Keep Holding On" by Avril Lavigne.**

**Seriously. Listen.**

**Important note: I actually originally wrote this chapter as a _songfic_. Scary, huh? For those who are interested in what a Kitsune Heart songfic looks like, go to Artemis Fowl Confidential, and to the Fanfiction section. I should be easy enough to find. There's a bit of stuff from the last chapter, slightly reworded, but it's mostly the same as what you see here.**

**There were only two reasons I chose 'Yarrow' as a name. One, it sound somewhat gender-neutral, despite being a plant name, which allowed me to spend the last year or so leading Ru-Doragon, Xybolic, and The Creatress on by making them think Yarrow was a boy (yes, girls, that is why I was always so smug. I swear, with all the mistakes I made, I thought you'd have caught on before now). Two, yarrow was once commonly used to staunch wounds. So, for anyone looking for symbolism, there you go.**

**Though The Creatress and Ru-Doragon were quick to note that it's also called "The Nosebleed Plant." Take that however you will. I'm sure Vin caused Grub plenty of nosebleeds, for a variety of reasons.**


	50. Close As I Wanna Be

**Warning: If you people don't get off your ass and vote on **_**The Perfect Gift**_** contest, there isn't going to be any awards or recordings. And, yes. Kit is pissed.**

* * *

**Song: "Eyes on Me" by Faye Wong**

* * *

**Chapter 50: Close As I Wanna Be**

"Vinyáya...Vinyáya, wake up."

"Nnnn..." Vinyáya shook her head, waving her hand in the air before her, trying to knock the intruder on her dreams away.

"Come on...wake up," the voice continued to cajole, luring her from sleep. "Come on...I have something for you."

It wasn't...going...to _stop_. Vinyáya slitted her eyes, teeth baring, ready to send her assailant running, pissing in fear of her wrath. She'd just given _birth_. It was time to _sleep._

Grub looked down at her, serene, if sleepy, smile growing a little wider when he realized he'd succeeded in rousing the woman. "Hey."

Vinyáya's eyes darted down and she realized that, yes, he was sitting on her hospital bed, one arm across her body and resting at her hip, effectively pinning her in place.

"Are you ready?" Grub asked, a brow rising. There was something very...illicit in the curve of his lips. "I promise, you're going to like it."

"I...I..." Vinyáya nodded, because, while at least some tiny part of her was still asleep, she was going to agree with that smile and whatever it was going to give her.

"Excellent." Grub leaned forward, making Vinyáya's eyes go wide, pulse up, certain regions of her body tingling. One hand went before him, and it seemed it could only go to cup her cheek or the back of her head, stabilizing her at the exact moment she would begin to shake uncontrollably, so his aim would not be ruined by her tremors.

Then...it went a little to the side. To the bedside table. And back. And..._gods_, was that—

"Coffee," Grub said, holding the plastic cup before her face, it's steam warming her nose, the scent instantly bringing her to complete wakefulness.

"_Yes!_" Vinyáya cried out in almost sexual ecstasy, sitting up and snatching the brew away. She tossed it back, not caring that she needed to use a little magic to heal a minor burnt tongue, because it was _caffeine_, and _yeeeeeeeeees!_

Grub chuckled and rose, walking out of the hospital room and back towards the cafeteria. Sneaking past the nurses had been entirely worth it.

* * *

The Wings were the closest thing the People had to an air force, and the large majority of the fairies on Vinyáya's payroll were there because of their piloting skills. Holly would have been one of the top officers, if she hadn't been so determined to make her way in Recon, and Vinyáya had always been sort of resentful of that. The Wing Commander had always supported the presence of women in the force (having been one of the first, herself), and actively sought out female officers for her team. She did not let their gender give a bonus to their scores, however; Vinyáya would accept those that were legitimately good officers, and the others could go elsewhere. Somewhere where losers went.

Traffic, for instance.

Well...okay, given recent developments, that wasn't quite fair.

But Vinyáya only accepted the best, and she expected professionalism, efficiency, and drive from her subordinates. And the very first of those most of all.

That was why she smacked the first officer that asked her for baby pictures.

Not hard. A love-tap, really. It didn't even ruin the woman's hair, but it shut her mouth with the desired efficiency. The other fairies in the hall leading to the Commanders' offices all froze, one or two whispering inquiries, but none giving any answers, too caught up in the drama to risk missing a moment.

Vinyáya waited until there was silence, keeping her eyes locked with the officer—a captain, and a specialist in long-haul, non-combat flying—for at least a minute. Then, in an even, quiet voice, she asked if the report she had been ordered to write when her boss left was done. As it should have been upon her return today, a week after she was released from hospital.

Captain Tansy nodded. Then collected herself, saluted, and barked, "Yes, sir!"

Vinyáya gave a sideways-ish nod and walked into her office, slamming the door behind her. After greetings and welcomes back were exchanged with Cirrus, she went into her inner sanctum and started up her computer, delighted to find that Foaly had taken the opportunity of her absence to completely update the hardware. She even had a great little squishy thing to rest her wrists on, and a new chair, since the former had been warped beyond repair by her pregnancy weight. She wriggled on the new cushions, beginning the long process of breaking it in before she turned her attention to the screen.

Opening up the LEP's mail client and clicking on Captain Tansy's address, Vinyáya tapped out a quick message.

_This is Captain Kelp's website. It has all the pictures. Look at them at work, and I'll have you patrolling the sewers under the dwarf slums._

She didn't bother telling the officer that mentioning the message would result in an even worse fate. She just sent it off, knowing no response would be given, and that she would have to begin watching her co-worker's terminals to make sure they were on-task.

_Someone_ had to patrol those sewers, after all.

* * *

After weeks of not being able to spar properly, getting punched in the face by Holly Short almost felt _good_. Vinyáya certainly hadn't complained when their scheduled hour of sparring at Section Eight turned into two, and threatened at three before Foaly clopped in and reminded Short that she and Fowl had a dinner-date to attend.

Panting, Vinyáya had waved Holly off to the showers, heading to the uneven parallel bars to assess how her coordination had been affected by months out of the air. She'd been horrified at the first missed grip and, though she never fell, she spent another half-hour working on her upper-body strength. Only the second interruption by the centaur—this time to tell her that, top-secrecy be damned, he'd tell Doctor White if she kept working like this—could get her to quit and head to the showers herself.

The Section Eight shower room was quite a lot smaller than the LEP's, but it had a higher per-officer space allowance, plus better general amenities, thanks to a technically unlimited budget. The water stream was almost stingingly-strong, and the heat itself could scald, if one was not careful, as they did have one or two goblins on staff, and a boiling shower was actually a prerequisite for their missions, to raise their reptilian blood temperature enough for speedy movement. There was also both a hot and a cold tub for soaking, to release muscle tension and aid healing, since the only agent whose significant other was aware of their involvement in the supposedly-pretend organization was the lucky Short. An officer that came home with injuries his coworkers could not verify stood a risk of being outed, so there was always plenty of healing items on hand to get one back to perfect condition.

Vinyáya certainly had no intentions of telling Grub about her place heading the organization. She didn't even think he believed in it, so any confession would more likely lead to him thinking she'd _gone_ Section 8. Thus, Vinyáya availed herself of all the perks of the locker room, including some magic-infused healing patches, to help preserve her own spark stores until she could get to the surface. She stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror that also went from one side of the locker room's northern wall to the other, without even a seam where separate pieces of glass would be put together, turning this way and that as she sought out burgeoning bruises, slapping the white bandages on, the skin around goose-pimpling at the tingle of stored magic.

She had quite a few marks, but eventually finding more was difficult. Vinyáya twisted and turned, arching her back and looking over her shoulder to try and find those last tricky, hard-to-see spots. She smiled as she came to the end...and then paused, finally _looking_ at herself in the mirror.

It was...unnerving. She'd tried to not look at herself too much as the pregnancy progressed, knowing it would depress her too much. She'd always been a stunning woman, even as she went past her prime and began to settle into the very, very slow decline of an elf woman. Perhaps not supermodel material, but she'd had no shortage of consorts. Without a pregnancy, she probably would have remained almost identical from one decade to the next. With it...

Vinyáya ran a hand over her stomach. Thanks to the magic shot into her after the birth, she didn't have the bloat human women suffered. She did, though, have a layer of fat that had been absent from her body since long before she joined the force. Not a roll. Just...a covering to her abdominal muscles. It would take weeks, maybe even months of work for her to get the ridges to show again. For now, there was a little convexity where she was normally concave.

Turning to face the mirror, she moved her hands to her hips, which also had a thin layer of fat, which extended, as she turned again, to her ass and thighs. It took a trip to her knees for everything to begin looking the same again, though she knew she was up a shoe size since before the pregnancy. She was looking forward to rectifying that. Vinyáya didn't obsess over any clothing item in particular; it merely seemed that shoes were the biggest betrayal.

He face was a bit rounder. Softer. She did not like that at all, but Cirrus had made a comment that it made her seem more..."affable," she believed the word was. She supposed that needed to be fixed swiftly, as well. No sense leading people on about how the birth had affected her personality.

Framing her face, her hair was thicker, and a bit shinier, as well, and the last nine months had seen it undergo a rapid growth, going from mid-back to the bottom curve of her buttocks. This growth and lustre, she had been told, was another side-effect of pregnancy hormones, but it was one of the few she didn't dislike. It had taken centuries for her to accept her silver hair, but, once she did, the rest of the People had followed suit, and she had seen a few women walking around with obvious dye-jobs meant to copy her fashion. It was somewhat ironic, considering her years of regular salon visits, trying to hide her roots, figurative and literal. According to Commander Kelp, there was even a few...adult entertainers who had taken on the look, though she was going to leave the verification of that knowledge to someone else. She had no issue with pornography, but there was something greatly unsettling about seeing if your citizens were having hardcore fantasies based on you.

The big change...the _gargantuan_ change was her chest. She'd always had a respectable rack. Short, with all her workouts, was rather flat, but the Wing Commander had probably been graced with the good genetics that could have actually made her "adult entertainer" material, if she wasn't such an avid exerciser, keeping her cup size down to fairy average. However, when the hormones had kicked in, they'd done so rapidly, and without consulting _her_. The result was a growth that had literally ruined her center of gravity, even now, when her actual center had a lot less mass to revolve around.

And then, milk. D'arvit, _milk_. She'd known that was the reason for the change, but seeing it proved right within an hour of Yarrow being placed in her arms..._truly_ unsettling. Her chest had ached, nipples tingling until someone came in to give her a lesson (because Grub either hadn't noticed her discomfort or wasn't brave enough to tell the new mother about anything to do with her breasts). Then, it had been like that oft-mentioned dam bursting forth, with just a little sucking—and _fuck_, the staff boob-expert should have mentioned the pain _before_ the babe latched on—producing a stream that was nowhere near abating when she moved her to the other teat to free it up, as well.

The pain had given way to a growing relief by the time Yarrow popped herself off and Grub took over cleaning the child and making sure she burped, among a dozen other little matters Vinyáya hadn't quite figured out, yet. She'd been left with the nurse, who showed her how the medieval torture device called a "breast pump" worked, until—thank all the gods, even the human ones—it felt like her chest was back to normal, and she could rest.

It wasn't back to normal, though, Vinyáya realized as she cupped her breasts and looked down at them. Stretch marks. That was one thing. One horrible...unfair thing. The rapid growth had taxed her skin, and the price to pay was these sections where a lighter brown showed between her dark skin, most going in strips from chest proper to nipple, creating something like a sunburst effect, but nowhere near as attractive or artistic. And her nipples themselves. They...looked..._weird_. Like someone had been pulling on them, which she supposed they had. They were a little longer than before and, when she pressed a finger hard into the side of a breast, milk leaked from the tip.

Vinyáya sighed and went back to a final study of herself in the mirror. She tried to be logical. There were fairies out there that would pay pounds in gold to have a figure like hers. Depending on your preferences, the pregnancy might have even improved her: her curves were more pronounced, face friendlier, and breasts gods-damned _behemoths_.

She wasn't going to be too logical. Not today. Foaly had taken one look at her and said they'd need to alter her Mark III suit before she was allowed back on missions. He wasn't trying to be hurtful, only responsible, but it had made Vinyáya cringe openly, leading Holly to smack the centaur's flank hard enough that even a horse would have considered it a punishment.

Vinyáya glanced down at the beading of white on her nipples. She supposed that was something that could not be denied too long, unless she wanted to experience some serious pain. It had been a long day, already. Longer than she should have spent back on the job. Blotting her chest with a towel, Vinyáya walked back to the lockers and began dressing.

* * *

Vinyáya no longer roared her bike home, setting off car alarms and the short fuses of her neighbors (oh, how she laughed at the homeowners' association...how she _laughed)_. At least not in the last week. That, she'd learned after a quick jaunt down to the store and back with her customary full-throttle, was an unwise idea. Instead, she got to her street and practically meandered down to the little blue one-story, pushing her bike up the driveway and into the tiny garage.

Her efforts were proved successful when she walked through the garage door and into the house proper. Sweet...blessed...nigh-unobtainable _silence_. No naps interrupted. No playtime startled short by the approach of a mechanical monster. Nothing but the hum of her refrigerator and her own breathing.

Vinyáya exercised all her Section 8 stealth as she walked through the house, trying to locate her two companions. It did not take long at all. Turning her head towards the living room, she saw Grub's shock of orange hair at one end of the couch, and padded in, intending to ask him where the other body in question was. Once she was within a few feet of the bed, however, she got her answer.

Grub lay on his side, back facing the room, body curled far more than was necessary on the three-seater couch. The uncomfortable-looking position was explained when she approached him, finding that he was curled around the swaddled form of Yarrow, laying between her father's stomach and the couch back. She was in pink—it seemed Grub wasn't _completely_ color-blind—and made a little "fuu" sound with each exhale, making Vinyáya tilt her head. She wondered if that was a normal thing, or if a jolt of magic was going to be needed to stave off a cold. The Councilwoman had her breast milk analyzed shortly before leaving the hospital, and was given an entire list of diseases for which she had antibodies that would transfer to the child, but she'd also been given a second list of known diseases that she had no defenses against, and a custom database of symptoms that could be searched to pinpoint any ailments of the child. So far, nothing had come up, but that list was enough to keep her on guard.

She did not have to wonder alone for long. As Vinyáya stopped at the side of the couch, having not made any sound she could discern, Grub frowned and slit an eye open.

"Oh...Vinyáya." Grub yawned, a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound, in case his daughter—who possessed the very same elven hearing as her parents, plus a baby's tendency to start at every little squeak—should notice and stir. He looked down at the child, making sure that she was there, but made no comment on her breathing. "Work...'kay?" he managed.

"Not too many crises," she reassured, leaning over and moving to slide one hand under the baby's head.

"Rrrrr!" Grub panicked in the quietest manner possible, his hair—flattened by sleep—now seeming to stick up straight in alarm. "Sleeping," he said through clenched teeth, shaking his head.

"I was going to feed her," Vinyáya said, obliging him by taking her hand away, at least for a few seconds.

"She ate..." Grub glanced at his watch and seemed to wilt at the time that had elapsed since he'd lain down. "Twenty minutes ago," he finished, edging off the couch, careful to take his weight off the cushions gradually, lest he wake the napping babe. Gathering all of the pillows and blankets, he made a half-circle to surround Yarrow, with the ends against the couch's back, the walls high enough to keep her in place should she wake up. She could not crawl or even roll herself over yet, so it was easy enough to keep her in one place.

Vinyáya scowled. "I was almost home."

"I'll be sure to tell her that the next time she's crying," Grub mumbled and blew out a quick breath to clear some hair from his face. He looked at Vinyáya, eyes blank of emotion due to lack of sleep. "We should...go...not wake her." He gestured vaguely at the hallway and the doors that led to the backyard.

Suddenly, a loud rumble came from the rough vicinity of his midsection, and Grub looked down at it, eyes still blank, unsure, in his sleep-deprived stupor, what could make his body produce such a sound.

Vinyáya shook her head and pointed towards the backyard. "I'll be right there."

He nodded, obedient to the woman as ever, and lumbered off, turning the door handle carefully and wincing when it squeaked, glancing back at the infant. They were speaking as quietly as possible, which was quite low, given their natural sensitive hearing, but one never knew what could set a baby off.

Vinyáya edged away with just about as much care. She'd been assured by Duke (during her weakest moment, a few days after the birth, when she'd hidden in the garage and called him in a panic as the infant wailed for over a half-hour) that newborns are the most difficult stage, as lost sleep goes, and Yarrow would eventually sleep for longer periods and need less feeding, changing, and the thousand other chores that came along with parenthood. For now, though, any time that Yarrow slept, no one was to disturb her, on pain of death.

Vinyáya did not go through to the backyard, but momentarily took the other escape route. She was missing from the outdoors for about ten minutes, and, by the time she appeared, Grub had already taken a seat on one of the patio chairs, his head resting on the frosted glass table. He ignored the soft noise of the garden's few avian occupants and the gently bubbling spring that fed the irises. In fact, his hands covered his ears, eyes squeezed tight shut as he battled his way into the realm of dreams.

Vinyáya shook her head. He _really_ needed to get more sleep. She thought _she'd_ been deprived, since the delivery, but her sleep was only interrupted by feeding, and half those times Grub carried the child to her bedroom so she didn't even have to leave the warm bed. He had wordlessly taken on almost all of the parenting duties, either not expecting her to be interested, or not trusting her with the child. Vinyáya had assumed the lack of trust would be _her_ realm, as fairy mothers in particular were paranoid creatures, but she had taken it without complaint. To her, the lack of irrationality seemed a good thing.

Since Grub seemed to have his hands clamped down hard enough to cut off circulation to his ears, Vinyáya set the plate she carried in front of his face, setting her own before another of the seats, which she took, her hands folded on her lap, awaiting a reaction.

She could swear that Grub's nose actually twitched. Like a little rabbit. He sniffed experimentally several times. The information his nose conveyed seemed to fail to resolve the error in his brain, and he opened an eye to look at the sandwich laid before him. After a long study, he lifted a hand from his ear as he turned his head to look at Vinyáya and venture, "That...is...bamboo shoots and...dragonfly?"

"Dragonfly paste, actually," Vinyáya confirmed. "Trust me on this."

"Trust what? It's better than it sounds?"

"Doubt it," Vinyáya said, lifting her own sandwich. "It's just all we have that I thought wouldn't kill us. I'll put in a grocery delivery order. Get some ready-meals or something."

Grub hadn't even lifted his head or picked up the sandwich to eat. He just pulled the plate towards his face and pushed the sandwich until an edge slipped past the plate's circumference, and took a bite. At the mention of "ready-meals," he swallowed. His wince and a pound to his chest showed that he either highly disapproved or he hadn't chewed nearly enough. Or perhaps the sandwich toppings were as bad as he'd assumed. "You mean something pre-cooked? Ugh...it never tastes right, and it's terrible for you, and—"

"And you say stupid things when you're tired," Vinyáya broke in. "You are going to put up with some pre-cooked food and fast food and crappy sandwiches for a while, because I think you're going to kill yourself if you start cooking again, and I _really_ can't raise this child alone. Not without...creating a super-villain or something."

"I thought we weren't supposed to call her a delinquent," the man grumped, taking another bite. The fuel seemed to bolster him somewhat, and he finally pushed himself upright, though his neck was limp, aiming his head at the table.

"See?" Vinyáya said, gesturing at him. "Stupid things."

Shrugging, Grub went on eating, his exhaustion making the terrible topping combination tolerable. Vinyáya didn't have that perk, having used her lunch time for a nap, but she was used to a lot worse tastes, thanks to her missions. She'd even been forced to eat _chicken_ once, when she was stranded topside for a few weeks in her early career.

When both were finished, the plates pushed far away on the table, lest they look at them and lament what they had done, both officers did the smart thing and took advantage of the continued silence, pulling the chairs away from the table and lifting the notched bars on the reverse until the backs folded down into one-person, very uncomfortable, slightly dusty beds. They really did not care. Neither elf had the desire to sneak past the sleeping baby (and likely fail) to attain their real beds. Besides, at this point, they could sleep anywhere, so long as an infant was not wailing nearby. Once down, both were out, removing the necessity of thinking about how awkward the close sleeping arrangement really was.

Vinyáya woke up far later than she'd have thought possible, based on the loss of Haven's dim working-hours lighting, her neighbors now supplying the glow that managed to illuminate her backyard. It wasn't too much, since the trees surrounding her property were mostly over one-hundred years old, but some light came through from the second stories, giving Vinyáya plenty to see by.

She must have shifted in her sleep—gods, what a luxury was sleeping after the birth, not only because of the scarcity of rest, but because she could _move_ and even lay on her _back..._it was like an illicit pleasure—as she was no longer facing the windows of the second bedroom, but the other direction. At the second bedroom's normal occupant.

Grub had no pillow out here, and he had tried to make up for that by holding onto the chair's armrest, his head resting on the old, thin, faded padding, which might have once been floral-patterned. He was still deep in dreams, brows twitching and lips moving, as if he was conversing with some entity of his imagination.

Vinyáya looked across at Grub's serene face. His gently moving lips...

Her breasts ached.

She had to move silently. With more care than she had ever taken on a mission. Those could end in death. This could end with...

Vinyáya placed a hand on the brickwork, shifting her upper-body weight to that one hand so she lifted her torso—including her over-burdened breasts—over the arm rest. No sense unbalancing the chair and making it tip over. Once free, she could place another hand down, in a sort of modified pushup. From there, it was a slow shift, a careful advancement, watching her hands...until she could feel the movement of Grub's breath putting the hair at her forehead out of place.

She waited, swallowing down whatever that feeling was that had risen in her chest when she felt the warm air. Tilting her head back, eyes angling up so she could study Grub's face from just a few centimeters away, she waited. Watching. Looking for any sign that her presence registered. Any instinctive response to a second body right next to his. She should really move away and go inside. Get away. Be rational.

_I am...so...stupid_, Vinyáya told herself as she closed her eyes and tilted her head further, and forward, and just a little up, until she felt warmth against her lips.

There was no response, at first. Perhaps his dream had ended. Or he could have woken up at the contact, and she was now making a complete ass of herself by assuming he didn't know what she was doing. By letting a few words, said during a burst of anger, be taken as a...a confession. That, even with the perfect Frond, he never stopped..._couldn't _stop...

She was about to pull back when she felt...something. The barest flicker, only registered because it was against the many nerve endings in her lips. Then the mouth against hers parted in a tiny sigh, warming hers, and closing again, her lower lip caught in a caress that was so soft, so slow, he must have been asleep still. Or far, far more restrained than Vinyáya had ever thought he could be. It was...chaste...and...tasted...rather weird.

Vinyáya smiled, the tightening of her lips removing the lower from the man's embrace. She should make him a better sandwich if she was ever idiot enough to try this again.

"Nnnn..."

Vinyáya opened her eyes.

Grub looked back at her, though his vision took some time in resolving. She could see the tiniest jerk of his eyes as they went from her pupils to irises, taking in the color, then to her hairline, confirming that, then trying to look all the way down, where her mouth should be, but unable to confirm what was there, and too addled by sleep to come to a conclusion based on anything but his senses.

Sight failing, the man changed tactics and tried touch. His mouth pressed forward a nanometer, coming against the lips he'd wondered about, and then back again once his conclusion was made.

Vinyáya's arms felt like they were about to fail her, even though she had always been able to prop herself in such positions for far longer. Hours, if need be. Her heart was hammering like she was in the middle of a firefight, all alone, and with her gun's battery blinking a frantic red. Her breasts...they wanted those lips in a manner that she had never considered before. That, one day ago, she would have thought was insane. Disgusting. But which she now realized could promise so many kinds of relief.

Grub blinked at the face before him. "Vin...yáya..."

She bit her lip. He was waking up. Any second now would come the freak-out. And demands for explanations. And impossible denials.

"Grub...ki—"

She didn't even have time to finish before her mouth was covered, lips parted by a tongue she had never suspected being skilled in _this_ fashion. It slid inside and curled up to the roof of her mouth, tickling a spot that made her whimper and melt, strength leaving her arms so her chest sunk to the brickwork, neck straining to stay up and keep their lips in contact, and very soon failing in this, bringing them apart with a small pop.

He would not let her mouth go. Could not. For, still mostly asleep, he thought that the lips, once lost, would never return, and their loss would kill him. Grub put his hands on the chair's arm rest, lifting his body over it, leaning down to the woman who lay stunned on the ground, leaning, leaning, so close...

"Shit!" Vinyáya barked as her peripheral vision caught the far-side legs rising, rolling out of the way as the male's center of gravity shifted, the chair's following suit, both suddenly, loudly, and _painfully_ toppling over.

Grub's jaw impacted on the very edge of one of the moss-grouted bricks, opening up his chin, mouth snapping closed at impact and nicking the tip of his tongue. A second later, the rest of his body hit, chair coming after, until both were in an impossible tangle of arms and legs, metal and flesh, and lots and lots of curse words.

Inside the house, a cry arose.

Vinyáya gasped and clutched at her chest, face—so recently flushed with an undeniable desire—now going white. Through the padding of her bra and onto her shirt, a wetness began to spread, and she pushed off of the floor, running inside with no explanation to the man, as she would gladly _die_ before she told him that the baby's cries had made her overburdened breasts begin to flow. She should have pumped before sleeping, but the process was so new that it hadn't even occurred to her. The only logical solution was, of course, to attach the babe to one, and hope it would make the other turn off for a few minutes, until she could switch over. And then wash her own bra and shirt, because she was _damned_ if she told the captain what those stains were.

Thus, Grub was left on the bricks, chin and tongue sparking blue, mind only slowly beginning to piece itself back together. Even with the healing, the pain was great, probably made worse than it should have been because of its unexpected nature.

It took him a full minute to get enough thought together to bring a hand to his lips and away again, with a little bit of blood, and a most unsettling feeling.

* * *

"I think she kissed me," Grub said, hand to his lips, coming away once more, as if he would see some sort of evidence on his fingerprints, even though it was a day later, and the woman in question wasn't around.

Both elves, deciding that a little time off from parenthood was necessary for their continued sanity, had cashed in on their first babysitting promise, calling in Holly Short and, thus, Artemis Fowl for an evening. Artemis was once again angry with Grub, because all Holly had been able to say after she looked in on the child's crib was, "Artemis! Artemiiiiis! She has little _toes!_" Over and over. The captain was expecting a death threat via text message once she discovered that Yarrow also had little _fingers_. Which _moved_. Apparently, Short did not have great long-term memory. Which probably explained how Artemis had managed to convince her that dating him was a good idea in the first place.

Vinyáya had taken over a guest room at Councilman Fleetwind's house, and was likely to stay passed out until she was forced to go home.

Grub only wished he could sleep. Sleep would have made life a lot easier, as he had work the next day, and very dearly needed his rest. Instead, he was sitting on Trouble's couch, Shirley sprawled on her back across his lap, demanding a constant belly rub, chattering at him whenever he stopped. He touched his lips for perhaps the thousandth time since his tumble yesterday. They were getting somewhat chapped from the constant attention, but even the little prickles of pain couldn't make him stop the exploration. The search for that elusive feeling that might have been just a wonderful dream.

Trouble—glad he was temporarily free of belly-rubbing duty—raised a brow at his younger brother. "Congratulations?"

"I...yes? Or...no," Grub shook his head, putting his hand down so he could scratch at Shirley's chin, making her head tilt back in complete trust and ecstasy. Her tail—growing fluffier as she came towards the end of kitten-hood—twitched, and her purr could be heard throughout the apartment. "I was asleep."

"Ah..." Trouble nodded in understanding. It was, perhaps, almost as bad as your best friend getting drunk and practically presenting herself to be mounted. "Not a great way to get a first kiss from her."

"Well...er...not the first, really," Grub muttered, lowering his head. At his brother's wave of encouragement, he tried to stop rubbing Shirley's chin so he could rub the back of his own neck, but found himself unable when her purr turned to a rumble of warning when he took his hand away. He went back to his attentions, realizing he was not going to escape until she went to sleep, if even then. "At the hospital. I...I was just going to kiss her forehead. I mean, she just gave _birth_; it seemed like a reasonable thing. But...before I could, she..." He shook his head, unable to put the moment into words. The thudding of his heart. The feel of her hair against his skin. The scent of milk and infant and the woman he had obsessed over for a decade and more. It was probably the least-sexual kiss of his life, but it was easily the _best_ thing he'd ever felt. Even better than the most intense, mind-blanking orgasm when they had first begun the affair. Or the warmest, slowest climax when he'd realized that he could no longer think that he kept accepting her into his office because he wanted her sex. When it was no longer about impressing her and making her want him (the pride he'd taken in her sudden addiction had given such a swagger to his step that it surprised the officer that no one assumed he was getting laid), but instead about touching and tasting and listening and using every sense, trying to learn all about her. All that she would allow him to learn.

"Grub," Trouble barked, interrupting the captain's reverie.

"Huh? Wuzzat?"

"Did you ask her?"

"Ask...what?" Grub frowned.

"If she kissed you."

Grub's jaw dropped. Even the _idea_...even goblins didn't scare him that much. "No. No no no. I...if I asked Vinyáya _that_ she'd...she'd..." He shook his head, unable to even think of what she'd do.

Trouble considered it himself. "Tell you it was a dream; _lie_ and say it was a dream; or confess, I'd imagine."

"I was more thinking she'd eat my liver."

"Nah," Trouble said. "Though she _might_ feed it to the K-9 units."

"I can't _ask_ her that, Trouble!"

"And why not?"

"Because..." Grub hung his head. When he spoke, it could barely be heard. "Because...what if she didn't?"

* * *

Duke watched Vinyáya for quite some time after she finished talking, his ears perked forward, tail raised, flanks twitching.

Vinyáya looked at her clenched fists. How was it that he—who was _younger_ than her—was making her feel like she'd just come home late from curfew? She wasn't even sure she'd _had_ a curfew when she was a young elf. Though, if her parents had known the things she got up to when she was out at night, they'd have brought Catholicism to the People just so they could build a convent to lock their daughter in.

_"Girl_," Duke neighed, prancing back a step, tail flipping, head jerking to the side so his hair came out of his eyes. He snapped thrice before his bare chest as he spoke. "Dah-rah-_muh!_"

Vinyáya covered her face, trying to not laugh. Because it was not funny in the least. It just seemed like the only thing she could do.

* * *

**Preview: "Just one chance, just one breath,/ just in case there's just one left./ 'Cause you know, you know, you know..."**


	51. For Far Too Long

**Yes, another chapter. Expect something of a hiatus after this. School is reminding me that I'm irresponsible.**

* * *

**Song: "Far Away" by Nickleback**

* * *

**Chapter 51: For Far Too Long**

Fairy births are rare events, and the arrival of a child creates a sense of euphoria that surrounds all involved for months on end. It is one of the best feelings that can be experienced by the People and—in contrast to human parents, who often found their relationships strained by the first few weeks—fairy mothers and fathers received a triple dose of euphoria and plenty of offers (or demands, really) of help from those about them.

That didn't keep parents from cursing their young when they had been woken up for the third time that day.

Once more, in the middle of the day (when, based on nocturnality, they should have been _sleeping_, d'arvit!), Grub was roused by the sonorous calls of Yarrow. Curled up in a circle of blankets that was more nest than cover, he looked to the hall and prayed fervently that his beloved child would shut the hell up and let him get back to sleep.

She, being a baby, did not comply.

Sighing, Grub literally rolled out of bed, flopping to the floor. By the time he was standing and had made his way out to the hall, Vinyáya had also roused herself, rubbing her eyes. Both were waking quickly, but neither was happy about this fact. Grub waved Vinyáya off. They had quickly come to an unspoken agreement: Vinyáya fed Yarrow and made sure everything was stocked properly; Grub cleaned and fretted; and _neither_ of them mentioned what had happened on the patio. Or what had happened in the delivery room. Or what had been said when Grub told Vinyáya of his family's history. Or any of a thousand other words or looks or touches. It was just easier to pretend.

"Waah waah waah," he muttered, reaching into the crib and picking up his daughter, cradling her close to his chest, a hand supporting her head, fingers stroking in an attempt to soothe. "Keep that up and one day you'll be just like me. Now...let's see here." He did the sniff test. It came up positive and, despite the offensive odor, he relaxed visibly. "Ah, good. An easy fix."

Rather than retreating to her bed for a few more blissful hours of being unconscious, until she was turned into a portable cafeteria once more, Vinyáya appeared in the doorway, running fingers through her slightly tangled hair, turning it smooth and truly silver. "Ah...the sweet smell of victory." She wrinkled her nose and looked away from Grub and her daughter, as if preserving their privacy. More accurately, however, she was making sure she kept down her dinner. The Wing Commander was able to change the child, certainly, but Grub was completely unaffected by the task. If you ignored his use of six alcohol wipes when he was done.

"No," Grub said, dirty linens already tossed into the laundry bin and the cleaning process nearly done. "The sweet smell of victory comes after she starts drinking soy milk instead of breast milk, according to my mother, so we have a bit of time." The new diaper on, Grub picked up his daughter, holding her away from his chest, cradled in two parallel arms. "So...what is next on the agenda, Princess?"

Vinyáya scowled. She'd need to work on eliminating that title. It was just strange.

Yarrow looked at her father, baby eyes still not very good at focusing, and yawned mightily, uncoordinated arms flailing about as she tried to cover her eyes.

"Thank you, gods," Grubs whispered as he put Yarrow back down. He hovered over the crib, in case she protested, but only made burbling noises, gumming at a fist with her eyes closed, so he tucked her in and reached up to tap the LEP shuttle mobile, setting it into a slow, hypnotizing spin. A fairy lullaby played along, which would become slower and slower as it neared the end, in the hopes the child's biorhythms would follow suit until she fell asleep.

Thus relieved of duties, for the moment, he backed away and stretched, popping his spine several times and trying to withhold a great groan at each release.

Vinyáya's ears easily picked up the startling sounds and restraint. "Not the best mattress?"

"Been thinking about changing it, yes," Grub confirmed, walking back towards the door. He rubbed a hand up the back of his neck, ruffling his hair, and went past Vinyáya without pause on his part, but was finally halted by her voice, the notes slightly raised in a clear question when he was just into the hall.

"This is going to sound horrible, but she has completely messed with my sense of time." Vinyáya briefly rubbing a temple to relieve the stress of sleep-deprivation. Even LEP missions did not prepare one for an infant. "How...how old is Yarrow?"

Grub looked at Vinyáya blandly, really hoping she was joking. He hadn't expected her to be the anxious, day-counting type, but it hadn't been that long at _all_. Either she really did not care, or the interrupted sleep had hit her harder than he thought. "Thirteen days," he answered flatly, ready to head back to his bedroom for more precious sleep.

"Oh," Vinyáya said, frowning. She looked at the floor, obviously deep in thought.

Grub readied himself to turn away if she did not say anything more. Bed. Too stiff for his spine, but _bed_.

She came to her conclusion quickly, however, and shrugged. "That's close enough, I suppose."

He was about to ask what she meant when Vinyáya strode forward and grabbed Grub's shirt collar. She yanked the man to her, crushing their lips together in a kiss that had faint tender echoes from nearly two weeks ago, though they were almost completely overtaken by her unrestrained need.

Grub gasped, then groaned as Vinyáya took advantage of his parted lips, tongue tip tickling against his own. He reacted on instinct, hands grasping at the curve of her hips and squeezing tight, pulling her in closer and causing her to release a similarly shocked sound as their bodies came together. He was by no means powerful, but the training Grub had been put through in preparation for his exam had been maintained, giving him a stronger pull than he had ever used on the Wing Commander before.

She loved it, wanted more, responding by curling one hand around the back of Grub's neck, fingers buried in his hair while the other rose and played with the tip of an ear.

At that supremely pleasurable touch, Grub came back to himself. He broke off the kiss, ducking his head out of her arms and pushing the woman away. He flung himself backwards, into the opposite wall, wishing he had the strength to punch right through. He had to get away. If he didn't, he couldn't stop, and he _had _to stop before it started again. He panted and trembled, filled with both desire and utter confusion. His eyes seemed to burn, and his groin responded in defiance of his will. "I...stop."

Vinyáya had been moving back towards him, body seeming to buzz with anticipation. His words, though, were successful. Just not because she understood and accepted. "Stop?" she repeated with a frown.

"Stop," Grub confirmed, sliding sideways on the wall, like he was trying to infiltrate a top-secret based and needed to avoid the guard's spotlights. His bedroom was so _close_, and he could jump inside and slam the door and lock it. Then he'd yell through the door that he was going to forget that ever happened, so they could get back to normal, and hope his yelling wouldn't wake Yarrow up and force him to go back into the domain of the temptress.

"But...I—"

"_Stop_," he barked, holding up a hand, as if that could add another barrier between them. "No, Vinyáya. _No_. I am not...I _can't_ do that again." It would kill him.

"Do..." Vinyáya frowned. Do _what?_

"Things have changed, and you can't pretend that you don't...understand me...and..." His hand reached the door frame, and he prepared himself for the final lunge to safety. "I...wont...can't...let you—" He jumped.

Among the many things that Wing Commander Vinyáya was, fast was at the top of the list. That, and a good strategist. It had taken her longer than she really should have to realize what he was saying, and that came at about the same moment that he began to move, but it was just time enough for her to rush forward and around him, her hand coming up as the door began to close, slipping between Grub and the room at large. With so little warning, he couldn't finish the flip into safety, and the hard impact of the door jarred Vinyáya's arm, though it caused little pain.

Grub, finding his escape blocked, pressed his back to the door, lowering his head and closing his eyes. "_Stop!_" he shouted, fists clenching, though he knew he could never strike the woman. "I don't _want_ this!"

Vinyáya let the door go and stepped back. Yes, he could never raise a hand against her, but he had far more effective attacks. She stepped just into the hall, so he could complete his retreat and slam the door, if he wanted. Before he could, softly, she asked, "And what do you think this _is,_ Grub?"

After several seconds, during which he imagined all sorts of terrible things would happen to him, the captain cracked open one eye, the barely visible pupil flickering up and down his attacker's now more-distant body, and her positioning out of his bedroom. Though it took some time, he seemed to recognize what the shift was, and both eyes fully opened, though his body did not become any less tense. Yet neither did it move further into his bedroom, or try to close the door.

He watched Vinyáya. She was so remarkably still, standing there in a long, loose white shirt with the LEP's logo over one breast, and similarly loose black pajama bottoms that came down to her knees. He studied her face carefully. There were signs he should see, if he was right. Dilated pupils. A flush about the cheeks and tips of her ears, and a deeper red to her lips. Plus, most obvious of all, definite shapes through the white of her threadbare shirt.

There was some of that, yes, but nothing near what he had expected to see. So desire, yes, but not...full lust, as he was accustomed. Realizing this, Grub slowly shook his head, eyes never straying from her face, in case she was just waiting for a chance to pounce. "I...don't...know."

She laughed once, looking down, her lips quirking. "I don't think I do, either." Her head snapped up once the words were out, and she looked to the edge of the door in a panic, expecting it to come towards her. It didn't, but her mouth continued to move, much more rapidly, and she almost shouted, "But I want to try!"

"T-try what?" Grub said, and now he did reach for the door's edge, certain that any novel permutation on their old activities could only tempt him to oblivion.

"_This_," Vinyáya said, gesturing between his body and her own. When he didn't stop his reach for the barrier—it took all her self-control to keep from jumping forward again and completely eliminating his chance of escape—she shot out, "_Us_," for clarity.

"Uh...us?" Grub whispered, just as he'd gained a hold of the door. "T...try?"

Slowly, Vinyáya nodded, a few strands of hair falling to her eyes. She waited. She had to wait. It was no longer for her to move forward, even if years in the force and politics had conditioned her to always be in the lead. Always on top. The one who made demands. She couldn't, and it tormented her feminist sensibilities, but she knew there was only one way this could work, and it was not _her_ way.

"You...mean..." Grub frowned, struggling for the word. Because it had been years since he'd associated it with the woman. For she had so thoroughly destroyed that hope in the beginning, and he had forced himself to forget it, to help him survive their meetings without going completely mad.

Eventually, he remember what it was, and finished with a tentative "...date?"

Vinyáya stared at him.

And then she began to laugh.

It was not the deep, slow, even sounds she made when a suitable punishment was found for a subordinate. Not the high hilarity when she knew that a rival was about to be bested. It was somewhere in the middle. She put her hand to her mouth, trying to stop it, as Grub had taken a step back as it began, moving the door a foot closer to closed. She shook her head. Then nodded. Then shook it again, the look on Grub's face changing so often she wasn't sure what his unspoken question was, but each answer seemed to be the wrong one, based on how he seemed to get smaller and smaller, looking away from her.

She struggled and finally gained control, and barely managed, "_Yes_._" _before she was back to laughing, though half as loud and strong as before, rapidly descending to little tremors.

Grub gaped at her, still not sure if the words had been addressed at his conclusion. So he said it again. "You want to date." He tried to not make it a question, in case her answer suddenly changed.

Vinyáya sighed, letting her hand fall, smile rueful. "I'd...be interested, yes," she said, as if it was his idea, and not her own.

Vinyáya was fast.

Grub, at that moment, was a whole hell of a lot faster.

They almost slammed against the other side of the hall before he managed to stop, arms tightening to bring the woman to his chest, squeezing a bit too tight, being so unaccustomed to holding someone after the months alone, and definitely having no clue how to handle this woman in particular. He babbled something that sounded vaguely like "yes" a dozen times a second, with a few "d'arvits" thrown in for good measure.

He seemed to be shaking, but Vinyáya had the good sense to not point this out. Instead, she blinked for a few seconds before the tension of her own body—brought on by the sudden impact, and barely kept from an early release in the form of a swiftly rising knee—melted away, and she took a second to contemplate that odd, yet not unknown feeling. Arms. His arms. Around her. Yes, she'd felt it before, but this time was not accompanied by groans and writhing, and somehow that wasn't a bad thing. It was actually quite...comfortable. How very odd.

Grub kept holding her, but his next words were almost like a push away, and he said then very quietly, as if hoping she would not hear and take them as such. "I don't understand...why."

That was the last thing Vinyáya was expecting. She thought that Grub would have jumped at the idea, not question her motivations. She hadn't even gone so far in her thinking as to identify them herself. "I..." she began, then faltered. She took some time to answer, analyzing the feel of Grub's arms around her and his heartbeat against her chest, and all of the feelings coursing through her. But...that was the physical. That was what had brought her to his office in the first place, and the physical had never been enough to interest her before.

"I am..." she began again, pulling back from him just enough to get a look at his face. She paused a moment more, then just jumping into it. "I'm a bitch."

To his credit, Grub didn't react.

"Oh, don't deny it," Vinyáya muttered, which finally managed to make him stop shaking and smile ever so slightly. "I have treated you like utter shit since...the beginning. Probably before, too. And I didn't get any better when I realized I was pregnant. About the only thing I _did_ do was let you stay here, and that was just to piss off your mother."

"You succeeded phenomenally on that point, by the way."

"Oh. Sweet." She grinned, then shook her head, trying to get back on track. "I never gave you a chance. And I never expected you to actually _do_ anything, but...you did. You did _everything_. And still I ignored all that, because I..."

She halted, thinking of Lili. Lili Frond, resident butt-of-the-joke in the LEP, who had noticed Grub's efforts long before Vinyáya—even if she hadn't been aware of what led to those efforts—and responded to the changing male. Offered herself to him with her characteristic lack of reserve. She was all soft words and understanding and...she'd seen Grub as something she had to have, just as Vinyáya had begun to wonder if he was something she could _tolerate_.

For the first time, Vinyáya put her arms around Grub, pulling him closer. She had to say this now, before another interruption came or her words were misunderstood. Or, worse. Before her own nature—reserved, ready to strike, so often suspicious—came out once more. "I didn't realize you might be someone worth having. Not until..." She looked up—something she rarely had to do with men, but which was a necessity with this elf—until their eyes locked. His eyes—wide and confused and begging—nearly killed her words entirely, but she just managed. "Not until I saw how you looked...in another's eyes."

Perhaps some people would have considered it a terrible thing for her to say. That the father of her child hadn't seemed like someone with any worth until someone else tried to steal him away. But, in essence, Vinyáya wasn't a very good person, and she knew it. Yes, the revelation was in part fueled by jealousy. Another part by having the evidence shoved before her face every day for nine months. Yes, it sounded terrible.

Grub did not seem to care. He didn't bother with words, finding her so close and convenient, instead lowering his head so their lips connected once more, the kiss hard, but somehow lacking in lust. Yet still completely new to them both, so that it didn't matter. It was if, in this one connection, he was trying to combine every missed kiss of the past decade, and was succeeding very well.

She was just getting used to how it felt—arms about her, bodies pressed close, lips moving slow—and preparing to change things when Grub pulled back enough to separate their mouths, tilting his head a bit more so their foreheads could rest together, wishing to maintain some sort of connection. She smiled at him, wondering if she was flushed, and he grinned back.

"I'll call Fleetwind," he proclaimed.

Vinyáya blinked. "Uh...huh?"

Grub took a hand from about her waist, sticking it into one pocket of his pajama bottoms, hand flexing as he searched for something. Not finding it, he put the arm back in place and remove the other (needing to always have one arm about her, so she couldn't change her mind and run away), repeating the procedure on the left side. He again failed, and turned his head to look into his bedroom, cursing when he saw his desired object—his cell phone—resting on the bedside table. "He's next on the babysitting list. I'll call him up, and we'll head out. I can't guarantee anywhere nice on short notice, but—"

_"Woah!_" Vinyáya commanded, placing a hand on Grub's chin and pulling it about so he looked back down at her. "You can't guarantee _anything_. The only things open right now are the nightclubs!"

Grub, with such wide eyes and so recent a wake-up (kissing Vinyáya was far better than coffee, he'd decided), seemed to have completely forgotten how late it was. His brows lowered. "We...could go dancing," he offered.

"I think we'd die," Vinyáya said reasonably, and, after some thought, Grub nodded reluctant agreement. Doing so seemed to make him shrink once more, so she stopped holding his chin, bringing her hand up to curl about the back of his neck, her body angling closer. "Maybe...tomorrow." At his continued wilt, she hastened, "Tomorrow, I promise." She placed a hand to her chest, right over the angular shape below her collarbone. "I swear on the Book. We can go out wherever, _whenever_ you want."

The vow ceased his shrinkage. He smiled and, gradually, seemed to recover, arms strong about her once more, head topping her own. "Breakfast?" he questioned.

She laughed. "If you like. Though Duke will probably start talking if we go out for _breakfast_."

Grub tilted his head. "Why?"

Vinyáya opened her mouth to respond, and snapped it shut again. Surely, even he was not that dumb. Not with his brother. Not after dating _Frond_.

"Why?" Grub repeated.

Oh, she really _shouldn't_. It was not a good thing to do.

But, well...she wasn't a very good person, now was she?

"I can show you," she offered, lids lowering, lips gaining a slight curve that he must have seen a thousand times. "If you don't mind, that is..." She carefully ran her fingers along the back of his neck, nails lightly scratching, moving back and forth, flirting towards his ears and then to the safety of his spine, venturing a little further each time.

Grub did not say yes. Nor did he say no. He just continued to look at her, brows lowering.

Vinyáya sighed and shook her head. Apparently, the three worst-behaved elves in the entire Lower Elements had failed to corrupt him.

...Yet.

She tensed her grip on the man's neck, bringing his mouth down to hers, which opened, tongue cajoling, teaching, utilizing centuries of skills which, though they had not been put to real use for quite some time, could not be forgotten.

When he finally began to respond, taking in her lessons with a truly commendable swiftness (he was always a very fast learner), Vinyáya took a step back down the hall, her grip on Grub never loosening, bringing him with her all the way.

In the weeks that followed, Grub would not be able to remember the entire night. All he could recall were small flash points. Moments frozen in time, but with such clarity of his senses that he was able to recall even the tastes on his tongue.

Vinyáya backing away from him, out of his arms by now, but holding his hands tight, leading him through the portal of the door and towards her bed. She had the smallest of smirks on her lips and a spark in her eyes that seemed childish and playful, but was in no way innocent. The dimmed lights of her bedroom brushed against her hair, turning it into a smooth silver that he was certain would be cold to the touch, but entirely worth the shock to actually feel.

Vinyáya already half naked and straddling his lap, her chest pressed against his similarly bare torso, angling her head down so her lips crushed against his. Her hands were buried in his hair, taking two great fistfuls as she pulled him further into the kiss, desperate to feel so much more of something that was still so very new. Her own long locks had, by now, slid between them, and they weren't cold, but neutral and silky, bringing up goosebumps where the tips tickled against his bare hips. Her mouth was hot and wet and he wasn't sure whether he wanted it to sink back down his body or remain there, locked with his.

And, finally, Vinyáya laying under him, her back arched until their chests almost met, legs wrapped around his waist. The muscles in Grub's arms burned as he held himself up, and she was reaching out to him, her nails digging into his back, trying to pull him to her needy flesh. Sweat coated both of their bodies, which slid against each other in an unstoppable rhythm. Grub's head was thrown back as he called her name, thrilling as another was torn from her throat, the word somehow both coherent and animalistic and entirely, _entirely_ _**his**_.

About an hour later, when they had both descended to sanity, Grub lay halfway down the bed, his head on his lover's stomach, idly brushing a lock of Vinyáya's hair along her belly button (now popped back in to its regular position) and still bare chest. He was mostly engrossed in this play, but occasionally looked up at Vinyáya through the frame of her breasts, and smiled. Whenever he did this, she gave a small smile back, each time growing just a fraction larger. She was beginning to shiver, in no way cold, and Grub could feel her pulse rushing, ready for him once more.

He decided it was best to distract her, even if his words wouldn't stave the woman off for long. "I'm shocked at you, Wing Commander."

He could feel her stomach muscles tense under him and she gave a full-body shiver as he said her title while they lay in such a prone position. It had once been something she demanded, thinking him unworthy of even uttering her last name. Now, it was somehow an endearment. She gave a soft hum, almost sleepy, even though she was in no way ready to use this bed for rest, no matter how tired she'd been not so long ago.

"And what have I done to shock you, Captain?" His own title felt strange, which made sense, considering it had changed since she began referring to him by last and, eventually, first name. She found she appreciated the change. "Corporal," in her head, still seemed somewhat derogatory.

Grub looked up at her again and resisted the urge to caress her bare breasts. No matter that they looked so_ tempting. _That would entirely defeat the purpose of his distraction. "You are getting..._kinky_."

Vinyáya had the oddest expression. One half of her mouth seemed to be frowning just a fraction, while the other half smiled the slightest bit. She lowered her eyebrows. "_Kinky_? What did I just do to be called _that_?"

Grub lifted himself to his elbows and leaned his head down, kissing around Vinyáya's navel. Each kiss resulted in a small tightening of her abs, which transferred across her body. "Well..." he mumbled, nipping her once, grinning as she squirmed, "we've never done it in a _bed_ before."

There was a little staring at these words. Then Vinyáya began to laugh. The sound was soft and she barely moved with the laughter, but there was a light in her eyes that Grub was sure he had never seen before. He liked it. He resolved to bring that light out a little more often.

"Come here," she murmured, grabbing a few strands of his hair and pulling her new (or was he an old one?) lover back up her body. Once she had him where she wanted, she proceeded to lick and kiss at his collarbone, rising up to his neck, heading for an earlobe, which seemed to completely counteract his former delaying tactics.

Or at least mostly. Grub felt his arms, already strained from propping himself up earlier, shake. He lowered himself to cover the female elf, groaning at the full-body contact. His hormones were already taking...ahem..._firm_ control of the situation, and Grub could almost hear their command of "Breed!"

And that was what finally got through to him. "Mmmm...Vinyáya?"

"Yes?" She said between nips, moving her skillful teeth towards Grub's tender ears.

"Did you go back on a contraceptive after the birth?" He fought to keep the meaning of the words in his mind as the woman's hips twisted against him, trying to guide him inside.

"Grub," she said, suddenly quite stern, which had the somewhat unexpected effect of making him groan. "I can't get pregnant for twenty years. Or did your _Mud Man_ textbooks not cover _elven_ fertility?" She was not going to let that disparity in the books go. Which reminded her: Fowl needed a suitable punishment. Besides being around Holly.

"I _know_ that," Grub said, suddenly pulling away, even as his hormones screamed some pretty eloquent insults. "Vinyáya," he said, voice suddenly dropping several octaves as looked her in the eyes to ensure she was paying attention to his words, "you're part human."

She narrowed her eyes at him, furious that he had suddenly decided to remind her of her indeterminate bloodline.

Then her eyes shot open. She sat up, dislodging the male elf, who yelped as he unceremoniously fell off the side of the bed, legs sticking in the air as he landed on his back.

"Oh _SHIT!_"

* * *

**Preview: "Tell me that we belong together./ Dress it up with the trappings of love./ I'll be captivated, I'll hang from your lips/ instead of the gallows of heartache, that hang from above..."**

* * *

**Fun fact: This chapter was written November 2009. It was one of the first written. I still love it, but I did have to redo the first half, since my writing style has improved greatly. And it was HORRIFICALLY cheesy before.**

**Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! I just had to get them together in time. It'll be a while, but someday soon I'll type up the full version of that scene. You know the one... For now, I'm barely keeping my T rating with what I did put in.**


	52. Tell Me That We Belong Together

**Sigh...so, the meaning behind Vin's repeating dream will be revealed, but in another story. It no longer fits in here. Those of you paying attention can figure it out, though. Just keep in mind, I love referencing Colfer's throwaway comments and characters.**

**Also, this story is now back down to 58 chapters long. Could change. Chapters seem to be combining like...bubbles or something.**

* * *

**Behind-the-Scenes**

"She likes me best." Grub lounged back on the couch, kicking a few times to get the mechanical bits to move and send the foot rest shooting up, momentarily alarming him. "Of course," he said, as if it was obvious, settling into the cushions as if he was the coolest thing since absolute zero.

"Nah," Trouble returned from his own place on an enormous beanbag, which seemed to be in the process of devouring him ass-first, enjoying yet another stolen drink from the author's larder. "She clearly likes me best. I get all the chicks." He sighed, holding up cupped hands. "So...many...chicks..."

"So? _I,_" Grub said, thrusting a thumb at his chest, "get my love interest. How's things with Lili, huh?"

Trouble scowled. "I don't get the shit beaten out of me on a regular basis, little brother."

"_Anymore_," Grub emphasized. "Remember _Fowl Shorts?_ And, by the way, implying you slept with Vinyáya? Not cool."

"Yeah, well, remember the _Dead?_ She can't like you that much if she lets everyone in the LEP try to bean you in the head!"

"At least she didn't let my girlfriend _die_ after making out with Fowl!"

Artemis, who had been sitting on the balcony and trying to read while an enormous black cat molested him, popped his head in through the sliding glass door and scowled at them. "Did it ever occur to you all that the argument might be moot, as _I_ am most likely her favorite, being the star of the series?"

Trouble and Grub stared at the former human in utter shock.

Grub, eventually, looked back at his brother, thrusting a finger towards Trouble's chest. "Hah! Her computer is named after my daughter!"

"Ah hah!" Trouble returned, copying the gesture. "Her iPod is named after me!"

Artemis glared at the brothers. "The computer is named Yarrow because it's a cheap replacement for her old laptop, _Raine_, and she named the iPod Commander Kelp because it's refurbished, i.e. _used_, and the warranty is only 90 days, which is how long she thought it would take to _break_ you."

Trouble and Grub turned their heads back to gape at the genius, who was smirking in his triumph.

He stopped smirking when they slammed the balcony door closed and locked it, going off to continue their argument in the office, leaving Artemis to fend off the love-starved feline on his own.

* * *

**I swear, the computer was named "Raine" long before it was Vinyáya's official name. I have a great love of _Tales of Symphonia_. The old iPod was named "Zelos" for the series, as well.**

* * *

**Song: "I'll Be" by Edwin McCain**

* * *

**Chapter 52: Tell Me That We Belong Together**

Grub wrapped his arms tighter around Vinyáya's waist. "Are you sure?" He tried to keep the whimper out of his voice, but it was hard. For one thing, he was almost scared out of his mind at the idea of what they were about to do. Second, he was _actually_ scared out of his mind about what they were _currently_ doing. He couldn't believe Vinyáya had talked him into this...

"Of course I'm sure," she sighed, slowing down when her lover squeaked in surprise as her magna-bike slipped between two cars. Two cars that had been driving way too close to one another to begin with. She hadn't seen him this nervous since they had gone to the doctor—the sadistic Nesset, this time, on his insistence—to confirm that she wasn't fertile yet.

The Wing Commander had been driving one bike or another since she first got her license at the age of 50. In fact, after so many years on two wheels or piloting, she wasn't particularly good with _cars, _though she could make a quick getaway if the need arose. She found his lack of faith...irritating.

"We've discussed this, Grub," she shouted over the roar of the engine and the shriek of her tires as she swerved to avoid a delivery van that had suddenly hit its breaks, blasting through the yellow light just beyond, waving at a startled Wheelie as she went by. "It's the least painful option for everyone involved. We should just...end this quickly."

Grub lifted his head from Vinyáya's jacket, resting his chin on her shoulder. For the first few moments, he had his eyes open, but shut them tightly when Vinyáya took a sharp turn, slipping between a semi and the curb. The fact that she reached out to slam her hand on the side of the passenger door in order to push them further away for the last bit of the turn _could_ have had something to do with his girly shriek of fear. "I don't wanna _die!_"

She laughed and let go of one of the handlebars, squeezing Grub's hands on her stomach. "I'm not meant to die this way, so stop it!"

"And how _are_ you meant to die?"

"Lethal injection for killing my annoying lover."

Grub grunted and hid his face in the crook of Vinyáya's neck. "Oh, thanks. It's good to know how you feel about me."

She just continued laughing as Police Plaza came into sight. "Well, now that we've got that all out in the open...hold on!"

Grub tightened his arms. "W-why? Why do I need to hoooaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Vinyáya was not going to alter her normal entrance to Police lazy just because she had a passenger. As she approached the last turn, the speedster hit the brakes at the same time as she turned the handlebars, making the back wheels of the magna-bike whip out behind her. Once she was aligned correctly, she hit the gas again, shooting towards the parking spots. She normally did this in utter silence, but this time she was laughing while her passenger squealed like a piglet, though their voices were nearly drowned out by the roar of the engine. Once again, she performed the drift, wheels protesting almost as loudly as Grub. She stopped precisely in the middle of her reserved parking spot. First taking a few moments to savor the feel of the engine growling between her legs (she had to admit, it was an entirely sexual indulgence), Vinyáya shut off the magna-bike. "All here?" she asked, looking over her shoulder.

Grub whimpered. "I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die."

The Wing Commander looked to the ceiling of Haven. "We're _here_, Grub."

"W...we are?"

She nodded, removing her helmet.

Grub braved a peek beyond Vinyáya's back, as if still uncertain that they had stopped moving, despite the lack of a stinging wind. "We're...we're alive?"

"Momentarily," Vinyáya drawled, feeling the affront to her biking skills quite deeply.

Grumbling, the captain removed his own helmet and glared at Vinyáya. "I'm buying a car. _Tonight. _We are _not_ doing that again." He dismounted and stood to the side of the bike, arms crossed.

Vinyáya scowled, but did not argue. Cars were an unfortunate necessity when you had a child (said child being in the capable hands of the Fleetwind wives).

Reluctant as she always was to leave her mechanical pride and joy, Vinyáya swung her leg off and stood beside the man. She looked up the steps of Police Plaza, which already housed several officers pausing on their way inside to inspect the odd arrivals. More were coming to the windows, smelling potential gossip. She knew Foaly had cameras trained on the entrances, so every officer would see the video within the hour. This...was it. She turned to Grub, feeling her stomach twist. "Ready?"

He was also looking up the steps, but focused on her at her words, grinning. "More than."

Closing her eyes, fists tightening, jaw clenched, Vinyáya leaned in to place a light kiss on Grub's lips, backing away almost before the act was done.

He smiled smugly, eyes darting sideways to take in the many officers that had stopped their ascent of the stares to gape.

Suddenly, the male grabbed two great fistfuls of the woman's jacket, pulling her body close to his, pinning her between the bike and his pelvis. His tongue shot out, deftly entering the commander's mouth, making her gasp and open more to his aggressions. She felt one of his hands leave her jacket to bury in her hair, holding her head in place as he spent the next minute devouring her, making her groan despite their exposed state.

When they broke apart, he did not move far, which allowed her to hiss at him without any others hearing her exact words. "We agreed it would be quick!"

He chuckled, giving her another kiss, this one as short as she'd bestowed earlier. "I just don't want there to be any lingering doubts."

"You _ass_."

"Mmmm..." Satisfied with the display, Grub stepped away from his newly reclaimed mate and held out his hand. "Shall we?"

Vinyáya looked down at his hand. Baring her teeth, she advanced.

Grub's eyes went wide and he backed away, almost managing to escape before he came to the curb and stumbled. He nearly hit the ground, recovering his balance after pinwheeling his arms frantically. He paled when he realized that the distance between them was gone. "V-Vinyáya, I'm sorry! I didn't think—"

"No," she snarled, stepping towards him, drawing herself to full height and reveling as he shrunk before her. "You _didn't_ think. I never really_ expect_ you to." As the male took another step back, her hand shot out.

Grub yelped, closing his eyes.

Vinyáya laced her fingers with Grub's, pulling him close to her side, turning her head so she whispered directly in his ear. "Let's not forget whose in charge here, Captain, hmmm? Now...I've got a meeting to attend." Not giving the man time to figure out what was happening, Vinyáya stepped out, dragging her lover behind as she trotted up the steps of Police Plaza. She didn't pause to acknowledge the goggle-eyes of the other officers.

Eventually, Grub's brain would catch up and he would begin to grin. However, this would not be caught on the video that would take over Police Plaza and a few of the gossip blogs for the next few weeks. What would be seen was this: Grub and Vinyáya arriving on the Wing Commander's magna-bike, Grub attacking the woman with a feverish kiss, Grub cringing in front of the woman's anger, and then being dragged into the LEP like her little puppy.

All things considered, it was a pretty accurate representation of their relationship.

* * *

"Trouble! _Trouble!" _Grub slammed into his brother's side, heedless of the pair of cowering Recon officers before him, which were quite thankful to have their dressing down put on a small hold.

"Ah! What! _What?_" Trouble tried to shrug his brother off, completely unsuccessful as Grub grabbed his collar and pulled his elder brother's ear closer, whispering into it in an urgent manner that did nothing to actually hide his words from others.

"_AH!_" Trouble repeated, now having sufficient motivation to shove his brother aside, hands coming up to cover his ears, still holding on to the data tablet that contained his subordinates' list of failure. "_What the hell is wrong with you?"_

"But they're _awesome!_" Grub said, bouncing with his enthusiasm. "It's all...wet and—"

"GO!" Trouble ordered, kicking at Grub's backside, inspiring him to zoom back down the halls, laughing madly, as if he had spent the previous day ingesting sugar, rather than resuming sexual congress.

When Trouble felt safe enough to uncover his ears, he noticed that the other officers were snickering freely, but a long-ago-perfected glare made them instantly squeeze their mouths into thin lines, bodies going to a stiff, perfect attention.

They endured the rest of Trouble's rant—significantly reduced, due to his embarrassment—with only a little flinching. When he ran completely out of things to yell about, Trouble snapped his data tablet down to the side of his leg, looking between the two derelict officers, ready to dismiss them. "Is that understood?"

The pixie of the pair gave the proper military response: a "sir, yes sir!" so loud that all three fairies were left with a ringing in their ears. The other officer—the lower ranked of the two, a buck demon—barely moved, but to lower his brows, indicating his discontent.

"Yes, Lieutenant Crusp?" Trouble asked after a very long pause, making sure the demon knew just how kind he was being by allowing him to speak after the dressing-down.

If possible, Crusp gained a few centimeters in height as he took a deep breath so he could bellow back, "Sir, he's right, they're pretty awesome, _SIR!_"

* * *

"Oh, d'arvit...these are new boots," Crusp snarled, lifting his foot...then setting it back down very quickly, sure he didn't want to confirm his initial conclusion about whatever it was that had got stuck between the treads. Did dwarves even _chew_ their food? Demons were fairly comfortable with dung, due to its use in warping and incubation, but dwarves...dwarves were just _wrong._

Desperately needing a distraction, he turned to look at his partner on this patrol: a lovely elf with maybe a little too much muscle for most of her species's tastes, but fairly acceptable for the bulky demons. "So, uh...whatcha in for?"

The woman was silent for some moments as they came to a crossways in the sewers, holding up her hand to command the subordinate officer to slow down while she took point, sweeping her head left and right while the thermal-imaging program in her helmet processed. When she found nothing, her hand went down, fingers twitching to usher the lieutenant to her side, to which he obliged, his boots making a sickening slap-slip-slosh-suck variety of noises all the way.

Halfway down the next length of tunnels, Captain Tansy muttered, "Looking at some pictures at work."

Crusp had to think about that for a while before he smirked, turning his head to check the woman out a bit more closely. "What kind of pictures?" His horned ears flicked excitedly.

Tansy paused, glad that they had just come across one of the few sections of solid land in these tunnels, and turned so she could let her gaze travel very obviously up and down the male's body.

She shrugged and began to walk away, strides long, almost going into a jog. "Hmmm. Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

Crusp blinked, a bit too caught up in speculation to respond, only roused by his helmets beeped warning that he was losing his patrol partner. He broke into a run, nearly slipping on something he _desperately_ hoped did not just _slither_ away, and went after the captain, grinning.

* * *

Despite Vinyáya's promise that they could go out on an official date whenever Grub asked, they didn't head out the very next night. They were simply too tired to move any distance further than bed to nursery or, in the most dire of situations, bed to recycling lounge. Not that they were very still when _in_ bed, but...one did learn to choose one's battles.

When Friday rolled around, Grub put his foot down, made a call to the next person on the babysitting roster, and spent an hour after arriving home from work darting about, cleaning every diaper, bottle, and possible tool that the sitter would need to care for his child, opening the refrigerator every few minutes and fretting at the stock of pumped breast milk, wondering aloud if he should run out for a tin of formula, in case Yarrow was voracious.

Vinyáya merely grunted at this and continued leaning against the hallway wall, glaring at her front door, barely moving whenever Grub sprinted by her. She could feel a prickle in her fingertips. Her tongue played with an incisor that she had chipped years before, resulting in a sharp edge. It would do nothing more than a regular tooth if she were to actually bite someone (not all that uncommon in combat, actually), but the small bit of pain it caused whenever she pressed hard kept her on a constant edge.

"Why did you call _her?_" Vinyáya rumbled when Grub worked in the living room, hiding all of the controllers, even though Yarrow couldn't crawl towards them if she wanted.

"She was next on the list," Grub said, fluffing the pillows. He sniffed one and frowned, darting out of the room and coming back bare seconds later holding a spray bottle, which he used liberally.

"Couldn't you...you know...pick the _next_ person?" Her nostrils twitched at the scent of the odor-neutralizing spray.

Grub gave the pillow a good sniff, nearly inhaling some of the fabric itself, and smiled, satisfied. "She'd know."

Vinyáya scowled. "How? Isn't Foaly next? He can keep a secret."

"Maybe," Grub hedged, arranging the pillows one way. Then another. And then another. "But she'd _know_."

A second later, Vinyáya's ear tips began tingling. Her pupils narrowed to cat-like slits, the gray overtaking the black, and she ran her sharpened tooth even harder over her lower lip.

Grub dropped a pillow, spinning towards the front of the house. He could feel it, as well. Deep in his bones.

The doorbell..._rang._

Vinyáya flicked her fingers, longing for her special Section 8 blade manicure. Something. Anything. Anything but _this_.

Grub gave her a pleading look as he walked past. It was just effective enough to make her turn away, rushing to the back of the house, muttering something about needing some things from the bedroom as her excuse. Thus, she was lucky enough to only hear the initial explosion, instead of being in the blast range.

"_Grub, dear!_ Oh, I am so _excited!_"

"Hi, Mom," Grub squeaked. It seemed he was having the air squeezed out of him.

"Oh, where is she? I haven't seen her in...in _days!_" Even though the journalist was out of sight, Vinyáya was certain that Hibiscus was pouting.

Vinyáya didn't think dry-heaving was a good thing to do before they had a chance to eat.

"She's in the nursery, Mom, and _keep it down_," Grub snapped, which made Vinyáya's lips twitch. "She was just fed and we've been keeping her up for the past few hours, so she should go right to sleep and not give you much trouble."

Hibiscus sounded horrified. "But...but...how will we bond if she's _sleeping? _We ladies need to _bond_, Grubby!"

Vinyáya paused between picking up her jacket and shrugging it on, nails digging into the thick pleather. After a few very deep breaths, during which time she dimly registered Grub warning his mother (using the word "_Mother"_ in a way that brooked no argument) against bothering the infant, she pushed the reaction away and finished getting dressed, patting her pocket to make sure she had a thin wallet. Grub had insisted that this evening would be a "full and proper date," but she never took chances like that, no matter how wealthy a man was supposed to be. And she especially wasn't going to be taken off guard, noting her lover's newest monthly expenses.

When she finally had the intestinal fortitude to leave the back room and approach Hibiscus, the younger woman appeared cowed enough to not appeal to the mother where the father had given his firm denial.

Hibiscus began beaming at Vinyáya, opening her arms wide, which made the Wing Commander freeze even before she was pulled into the closest thing to a bone-crushing hug that the pampered younger woman could manage.

"Oh, dear, you _have_ been working hard, haven't you?" Hibiscus asked as she pulled away and cast her eyes up and down Vinyáya's body. "Well, good for you!" She smiled, eyes narrowing. "Those last few pounds are _always _the hardest."

Vinyáya felt a flash of heat in her chest, but just laughed. "Damned impossible once you have two, I'd imagine."

The return laughter was a few notes up in the scale, and a lot longer in duration. "Oh I don't know...my _older_ coworkers have always said it was a matter of age and your skin's elasticity..."

"Well!" Grub yelped, doing the completely moronic thing and sliding in between the two women. "We'd better get going or we'll lose our dinner reservations!" He raised one bent arm, offering it to her, a frantic look in his eyes.

Vinyáya didn't take the arm, at first, giving Grub a somewhat offended look. Did he think she needed to be taken away before she made a scene, as if she had _no_ self control?

Then she looked past Grub, at Hibiscus, who was showing no little interest in the proceedings. If she had the balls to write about this little semi-familial trio of theirs, what would she say?

Feeling that her ears simply _must_ be moving further up her head and curving, cat-eyes _surely_ glowing red, Vinyáya linked one arm with Grub's, the other hand coming up to squeeze his bicep, her breasts brushing against his side, and thought to herself, _I do such _terrible_ things to your little boy, don't I?_

Hibiscus coughed and looked away just as Grub stared at Vinyáya, a red tinge rising to his cheeks. "Er...you okay?"

"A few too many layers," she said breathily, squeezing his bicep a bit harder.

Hibiscus coughed louder, said something vaguely along the lines of "have a nice evening," and made her way quickly towards the nursery.

Grub watched her go, then looked back to his landlady. "Was that really necessary?"

Vinyáya considered this, lips pursed. "Hmmm...yes." She nodded firmly.

Grub frowned, mouth opening, and then just shook his head. "Let's go..."

Vinyáya agreed and they stepped out the front door, she allowing him to open the passenger-side door to his new car—the reason for her recent concerns over his expenses—before she slid in and lounged back, one long leg crossing over the other, making the slit in the side of her black dress reveal more flesh than the designer had anticipated. Grub saw this and reacted with an adequate degree of fluster, forgetting how to work a manual transmission. He had to close his eyes and change the gears by feel before Vinyáya decided that safety was a bit more important than ruining the younger man, fun as it might be, uncrossing her legs and demurely arranging the dress so the slit came together.

Then they were off, Grub grinning like a loon, finally embarking on their first...real..._date._

* * *

"They...what?" Lili said, staring at Trouble, waiting for him to backpedal on his words. Or at least prove that he had not gone utterly mad.

"Yep," Trouble said, finishing a long pull on his beer, letting his hand flop down over the couch arm, bottle dangling. "A date." He leaned further into the cushions, settling his feet onto the coffee table. "_Together."_ He sounded rather disgusted.

Lili groaned, roughly rubbing both hands over her face. When she had finished and turned back to her friend, her forehead and cheeks had gone red from the pressure, and she was giving his beer a very covetous look. Hers was long-ago finished, and she was certain that this revelation had sobered her right up. One drink was not nearly enough to cope with this. Trouble should have known better. Really, he was so inconsiderate, not getting her adequately sozzled first. "This is just completely unfair."

"What?" Trouble muttered, keeping his eyes off the woman, instead looking down on pup and kitten, who were on the rug before his entertainment center, slowly grooming one another (with Shirley muttering about how terrible Regal tasted as she tried to hold his head down to lick between his eyes) in the manner of the truly sleepy. "You were waiting for him to come back?"

"_No_," Lili reprimanded, shaking her head so her voluminous hair floated about her, coming to rest on her shoulders with some small strands over her eyes. "Just...she's..."

"Difficult?" Trouble volunteered.

"Oh, gods," Lili gasped, studying her friend. "She's _converted_ you."

Trouble snorted and took another drink, finishing off his bottle and leaning sideways on the couch to place the empty on the floor, right next to Lili's. Their movie and dinner were long finished for the night, and now it was just time to unwind and talk a little, which, when he thought about it, really sounded like a girl thing to do. How had he ever been so deftly pushed into the "friend" zone when their relationship had begun with his efforts to seduce her? Maybe Lili was a lot smarter than she let on.

"I haven't been 'converted.' I just...I'm trying to get behind Grub on this."

"So you're _trying_," Lili emphasized, turning sideways on the couch so she could face her friend, legs folding into a yoga position. "What do you _really_ think about them?"

Trouble frowned and considered. His thoughts were jumbled, and he groaned, leaning forward on the couch and resting his elbows on his thighs, balled fists under his chin, as if that position would help him order his thoughts. "I...she's..."

Lili tilted her head and leaned towards him, almost laying down on the couch. Her hair hung down in a long curtain as she tried to look up into Trouble's face. "Yes?"

Trouble turned his eyes to the woman, still considering. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. "I should be so lucky."

Lili frowned and slumped back, with Trouble settling soon after, much slower and quieter. Her arms were crossed, shoulders high up so, for a second, it seemed she had eliminated three-quarters of the length of her neck, and her ears had tensed to lay flatter against the side of her head. "How's _he_ lucky?" She huffed, cheeks puffing out.

Trouble lay an arm on the back of the couch, slouching again until he found himself suitably relaxed. The alcohol was nowhere near enough to even make his head fuzzy, but his muscles had lost some of their tension and he felt rather good, despite being, once again, dateless and in the Princess's company, little more than a lord-in-waiting. "Well, for one, he's getting laid again." He shifted slightly at the revelation and the corresponding protest within his jeans.

"Ugh!" Lili threw her hands in the air. "I _know!_ It's not _fair!_"

Trouble raised his brows in agreement, but said no more.

"I mean, yay him, but..."

Lili balled her fists and put them between her legs, flexing her thighs to squeeze them in a manner that very quickly made Trouble forget that he'd only drunk a single beer, instead of the entire contents of his larder.

"I haven't got laid in _two months_," Lili whined, leaning towards Trouble. "And...I mean...yeah, I decided dating was a bad idea, but _ugh!_" She slouched, sexually defeated.

Trouble blinked at her. "Uh...huh..." He realized he was scum for thinking this when she was in the middle of a self-pitying rant, but that top she was wearing was his new favorite. The main portion of the white body was tight, showing off her quite pronounced curves, but the neck area was just a lot of loose fabric, which, when she leaned forward like that, fell and parted perfectly, giving him an amazing line of sight into a bottomless crevice made of smooth mocha walls.

"I'm just spending every night in, trying to avoid watching a romance movie or listening to the wrong music, so it wont get me depressed or horny as _hell_, and..." Lili straightened suddenly, giving Trouble a very startled look.

He snapped his head up, heart pounding. He'd been looking too directly at the feast of delights. She's noticed. Clueless Frond had noticed. Death.

"And _you!_" Lili barked, thrusting her hand at him. "I'm dragging _you_ down with me! I mean, how long has it been since _you_ got laid?"

"Gyaiiiii..." Trouble thought quickly. His mind rewound the conversation, knowing she'd given her total and knowing that his was exactly the same, but he responded with a vague, "Eh...month and a half, two..." He shrugged it off, straining to smile.

"See!" Lili said, shaking her hand again. "You should be going _out_, Trouble! Not hanging out here with me and...letting it fall off!"

"It's not going to _fall off_," Trouble said, shifting uncomfortably. Despite his denial, the pain beginning in his groin was makeing him wonder if he was putting his nethers at undue risk. A little more talk along this line was going to cause a very large, painful problem. "And I'm fine. Besides, it means they can spend time together." He gestured at the pets, who were both struggling against sleep, the kitten using Regal's paws as a pillow, laying on her back, while Regal tried stay alert, his head angling down and down...and then snapping up again with a snort, blinking about as he tried to find the disturbance.

"But you should be getting _laid_! Hell, I would if I could!" She scowled and put her hand back down, studying the pair on her lap. "I never should have decided to stop dating."

Trouble perked up, but did his best to hide the fact. "Well, it was your decision. And maybe it's something I...you know...something I need, too."

"Trouble," Lili said blandly, glaring at him. "You're a _commander_. There's not much career work you need to do, and we both know you could afford a lot better place than _this._" She jerked her head to indicate the apartment, but not with complete disdain. For a bachelor pad, it wasn't that bad. The only empty beers and pizza boxes were their own doing that very night, and the only clothes on the floor were those that hadn't been dunked accurately into the laundry basket when he got home from work. There was only one bedroom and a small kitchen, but that was all he needed or could care for, with his heavy workload.

"Yes, well...it's still really complicated," he reasoned. "I've gotta deal with _women_, you know. At least _men_ are generally okay with...er..."

"One-night stands," Lili finished, to which Trouble nodded. "Yeah, maybe. If they didn't go to the press the next day and say I've got a freckle on my left butt-cheek."

Trouble raised a brow. "Oh? Um...so...do—"

Lili raised a hand to halt Trouble before he made an idiot of himself.

He, wisely, shut his mouth and looked back at the pets, who were now completely out, the kitten snoring lightly.

"It wasn't _always_ complicated," Lili muttered, not having noticed the nearly diabetes-inducing level of cute not five feet away. "Remember? The Academy?"

"Hmmm," Trouble nodded, lips tight. He remembered, certainly. And, in retrospect, his frequent stints on toilet-scrubbing duty after being caught fighting the other Academy men made a whole lot more sense...

"Ugh...I just...yeah, I didn't exactly have a good reputation, but I get out of the Academy for a few decades, and suddenly it's a crime that I'm not hand-fasting and popping out 2-point-five princes." She looked at her wrist, which had never even been offered a binding of the gold rope, and then thumped her hand back to her side to avoid looking at its blank state. "It's not _fair_. I just want to...to have fun while I can! No one criticizes _you_ for doing the same thing!"

"That's just how things are, Lili. It's not fair; it just is." Trouble tried to smile reassuringly, but it appeared that Lili didn't notice his efforts to appease. She glowered for quite some time, and Trouble sulked inwardly, knowing that this was how the night would end: multiple types of frustration on all sides, with no chance of any ever having resolution.

"Well...why?" Lili asked, tilting her head to the side. "Why do they have to be complicated? Why do we have to _let_ things get complicated?"

"Hey," Trouble protested, "I try to avoid that." Not that he didn't consider himself to actually be _dating_ the women he went out with. It was just that he knew, after one date, most of the time, that they didn't have the right chemistry. And if he made sure to go through the full possibilities of a date and bring them home for the night...well, he was making sure they had every opportunity to change his mind. Of course, in the last year or so, he'd finally begun to _expect..._no,_ hope_ that they wouldn't have that spark, instead of hoping the case would be otherwise. Before, unexpected chemistry would have been a blessing. Now...

"Exactly!" Lili proclaimed, slamming a fist down onto her palm. "That's just what I mean! I don't see how it's so bad if we just need to...work out frustrations, but don't want to bother with having to _call_ in the morning, or worry about someone blabbing it all over the press. Playing the _Game_, following the _Rules_..." She snorted at the song-and-dance routine of relationships, whose steps were tenuously agreed-upon, made up by a committee, and had different, irrational time-signatures for the different genders. And for the same genders, sometimes (her very brief foray into same-sex dating had ended quite swiftly and spectacularly). "It only makes sense that we should do what we want. We're _adults_, Trouble!"

He snorted, shaking his head. "Experience says that's not true of everyone in Haven."

Lili rolled her eyes, nodding in agreement. "I know...I know, Trouble. _Obviously_. I don't expect _everyone_ to agree, but I just meant we..." She gestured vaguely at the air.

Trouble raised a brow. "Just meant...?"

She gestured at the air again, now with both hands, and so vigorously that she bounced a bit on the couch.

Trouble watched her (really hoping his eyes didn't bounce with her rhythm) until she calmed down and shook her head, muttering something under her breath. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he prayed for her to elaborate with more violent gestures.

Lili huffed instead, letting her hands flop to her lap. She gave him a very irritated look, and Trouble knew that he had disappointed her greatly with his ignorance. "Trouble," she said seriously. "Why do _we_...have to let things get complicated?"

* * *

Vinyáya didn't have the heart to tell Grub that his car...well, it was the _fugliest _thing she'd ever seen. A veritable box on wheels, and some strange green color that she thought would be perfectly camouflaged up against a wall covered in moss. And vomit.

Grub crooned over the monstrosity almost as much as over his new lady and their child, and was, thank the gods, oblivious enough to all things in this world that he didn't get offended when he tossed the keys to one of the valets at Reynard's and the sprite's wings shot out in alarm at being chosen from among his companions. They all snickered, but the sprite simply snapped his wings back in and gave the two elves a brisk nod as they walked by. Vinyáya made a mental note to slip the man a sizable bill when Grub wasn't looking. Anyone that tolerated driving that..._thing_ deserved a nice bonus.

Grub seemed determined to perform every gentlemanly duty for this date, and Vinyáya did her utmost to avoid wincing. She was still getting used to the idea of being officially paired with him after ten years in hiding, and there was still some residual flash of fear when he did something like open a door for her and finish ushering her in with a hand to the small of her back, or pulling out her chair when they were shown to the table. Yet these were things she had allowed every other man she had dated to do, giving no protest. In fact, while she prided herself on being Haven's lead progressive, she'd always been faintly irritated when one of her suitors have failed to do his duty, even after some of her colleagues tried to call her out on the double-standard. To have Grub do it was...such a _public_ form of intimacy that she felt as if all eyes were on them.

Once they had taken their seats and accepted menus, Grub spent quite a long time staring at the dishes—all of which included rather nonsense buzzwords, like "medley" and "glistening"—before he frowned and set the menu down. "I never know what to order when I go out."

Vinyáya smiled at a faint echo of his old full-blown whine. "The locusts were good the last time I ate here," she volunteered.

And immediately wished she hadn't.

Grub had looked away from her face even before her sentence was finished. He recalled that night perfectly well, though, admittedly, a lot of his memory focused on how a certain blue-sequined dress—which seemed to have disappeared utterly from her wardrobe since—fit every line and curve of the woman, the shine demanding his attention. And, of course, he recalled the graying elf that had come for her just when he'd begun to wonder if just maybe she did want it to be his attention she caught.

"I wasn't trying to make you jealous," Vinyáya commented, holding her menu so it obscured the bottom half of her face. Her eyes were rather blank, flicking across the text, somehow managing to read it without words like "succulent" and "flame-kissed" popping into her sentences.

"You...weren't?" Grub asked, pinching the bottom edge of his own menu and twisting. The fine parchment tore for an an almost infinitesimal distance, and he let the menu go, closing it, hoping the waiter did not see his little vandalism.

"Hmmm," she said with a nod, the rapid jerks of her eyes slowing as she found something that warranted her interest. Even though her pregnancy cravings were over, she'd found that nursing had its own set of demands. And restrictions. Coffee was still a luxury only indulged in when she had enough excess to make up for a few hours of tainted milk. Or else if the caffeine would give her enough energy to manage a very hyper baby. "I was...enjoying being able to date."

"Because we weren't..." Grub gestured vaguely. "Anymore. You were free."

Vinyáya scowled, letting her menu fall. "_Excuse_ me?"

Grub leaned back in his seat. "I-I mean—"

"I was _always_ free to do what I liked," Vinyáya interrupted. She picked up her glass and took a slow drink, using the pause to gather her wits, interrupting Grub again—only the gods knew what he was babbling in response, but she couldn't make out any real words in any language—as she continued. "It just so happened that I preferred you."

"I...oh..." Grub nodded, putting a hand to his own glass, though he did not lift it, merely playing with the condensation. "That...makes sense, I guess," he managed.

"No...not really," Vinyáya muttered, bending her menu so it popped loudly.

Grub risked a glance up at her, though his head was still lowered in that way that made Vinyáya feel like she'd just scolded a puppy.

"You have a way of making me forget that I should be sensible," she clarified.

Grub's mouth twitched, though his body didn't relax.

Vinyáya laughed softly, finally putting her glass down, reaching across the table to press her damp thumb to Grub's lips, which finally began to curve upward under the pressure. "It was always worth not dating," she whispered, pulling away when she caught sight of the waiter approaching them, resting her hands on the edge of the table, as if nothing had happened. There was no sense giving the man _too_ much to report to the tabloids tomorrow.

* * *

Trouble scowled. "I still don't—"

It hit him and his heart stopped. His mouth went dry. He stared at Lili. Trouble waited for her to laugh, to point at his face, to say she'd _got_ him!

She snorted in amusement at her floored friend. "Doesn't it make sense?"

He realized that his eyes were falling into her cleavage again, and reeled them in with a huge inward breath, leaning back so his shoulders began to move over the couch's arm rest and towards the open air above the floor as he desperately tried to get some space between them. "You..." His words failed, but he kept his neck stiff. Because, if he shook his head to indicate his confusion, she could take it to indicate his denial, and that would be that. And if she meant what he _thought_ she meant...

She brought her legs up tighter to her body and a hand beginning to rub small circles at the nape of her neck. It made her body seem so much smaller. "Well, I _know_ you've thought about it. You tried to hop into my bed the second you saw me back in the Academy! And...well, I'm not going to deny that I've considered it, myself." She coughed into a fist. Her face had gone red. Redder than Trouble had ever seen when she'd taken so many shots that she couldn't _see_ straight, much less walk straight.

Trouble's hands gripped his thighs, and he could feel something roar in his chest at her admission. Of _course_ he'd considered her. The first _year_ they knew each other, practically every hello had included a "Ready yet, Princess?" that was only half play. It had become more and more of a joke as the year went on, until he stopped dropping the salutation. Then they had enjoyed over three decades out on the town, together for only a few hours before they picked their lucky winners. Then taking sharpie-based revenge on whichever man left her moping by Sunday, like a big brother defending his sister's honor.

He hadn't realized why he did it. Trouble would be the first to admit that. Maybe, for a while, she had completely ceased to be something he desired. Then Grub came into his office for date advice and sent his bombshell to explode in Trouble's face. Every thought about making sure his friend was avenged and his sudden terror at the idea of the woman with his little brother had slammed together, and it had been so _obvious_, and now _she_ was confessing it to _him_ and he wanted to just _leap_ forward and crush their mouths together and lean her back on the couch and, romance be damned, he wanted her _there_ and_ now_ and...and...

"You're my best friend, Trouble," Lili said, blushing as she realized he was no longer leaning away, but now staring at her, eating her with his eyes, confirming her suspicions. "I don't see why we can't enjoy some...benefits."

And...die.

"Benefits?" Trouble repeated, voice nearly cracking.

"_Exactly_," Lili emphasized, grinning in triumph. "You wouldn't go blab to every tabloid in Haven, and you know I'm not the obsessive clingy type, like some of your exes, so...we could help each other." The hand that had been rubbing at the back of her neck now moved about to trace a line along one side, brushing over her shoulder and onto her collarbone, little finger tripping across the boundary that defined the difference between chest and breast. She didn't gain full "bedroom eyes," but her lids did fall to a comfortable, almost sleepy quarter-lidding, the percentage matching the degree of her smile.

"Help..." Trouble said. Not repeated. Said. Requested of whatever gods (fucking _hell, _Cupid!) might be watching and guiding this moment. He knew she was trying to tempt him...well, to be honest, _succeeding_ in tempting him with her light touches and soft eyes, but he was so thankful she didn't take things further while he tried to think. Seeing her like this was hard enough, but if she had come towards him, lips slightly parted, placing her arms in that masterful way women had that pushed their breasts together so...delectably..._gods_, just thinking about that was making this all the more difficult to consider rationally.

"I still don't want to go through the trouble of _dating_ people," Lili further explained, sticking out her tongue at the distasteful idea. "That doesn't mean _you_ can't. Though, don't get me wrong, I don't want to do this if you _are_ in the middle of dating someone. But...if you're free..." For the first time her eyes left his face, dipping down to his groin. Her lips curved further as her brows went up, and she forcefully schooled her gaze, going back to his face. "I mean, why not?"

"Why..." Trouble's suddenly developed echolalia supplied. Why not. Why not, indeed? When else would he be given this chance? Hadn't he used up all_ his_ chances back in the Academy, when he routinely joked about them jumping into bed together? That just left Lili to use her finite allotment, and she was using it so _well_...

"So...come on," Lili went on, the blush returning in two tight circles on her cheeks. The traveling hand on her neck finally paused and she locked their eyes together. The woman was barely breathing, but neither was he, and the apartment went silent, but for the almost inaudible hum of the refrigerator. Lili swallowed and the mischievous twitch of her lips faded a fraction as she licked them to help ease out her words. "Trouble...go to bed with me?"

* * *

Grub had asked for some strange alterations to his order—and recommended a few for his date's choices, which she decided to take when he'd laughed nervously at her hesitation, as if he had insulted her instead of the kitchen—which had brought out the enraged chef. The neon-orange haired female pixie (the white tips at the end of her hair giving the restaurant, _Reynard's_, it's name) had snarled for a good five minutes about presentation and the delicate balancing of flavors, and had then nearly bit a dent into the forkful of custom food Grub offered. She hadn't changed her tune after the mouthful, but had ended their conversation with a glare and stomped back into the kitchen, the double doors swinging several times after she made her exit, letting the diners get a good look in on a terrified wait staff.

"Please...never do that again," Vinyáya muttered, a hand over her eyes. She could feel dozens of eyes on her.

"But...it helped!" He whined, spearing a few vegetables (using a new, untainted fork).

"I will do..._anything_," Vinyáya groaned. "Just..._don't_."

There was a long pause, which was only partially filled by the sound of chewing.

"Anything?" Grub finally asked chirpily.

Vinyáya uncovered her eyes and looked at the man.

He smirked, eyes dark and so-easily-readable.

"Oh...damn..."

* * *

Her words had been so quiet and thin that Trouble might have been able to ask that she repeat them, and doubtless Lili would not have had the courage to do it again. She would have laughed and said it was a joke, maybe leaned over and punched him in the shoulder and said she couldn't _believe_ he'd fallen for it.

Trouble didn't even try. He'd heard. He understood. The sideways, euphemistic phrase was one he'd heard on at least three dozen previous occasions, from nervous, yet eager dates. Women never came right out and said what they meant, in his experience. It was always "will you go to bed with me," "I want you," "would you like some coffee?" Lili's offer was the closest he had ever come to the intended meaning: let's have sex. _Lili_.

And it only took a quick glance to realize how much she needed it. She was breathing fast, despite her attempts to appear calm, though it came in small, soundless gasps. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with the insufficient air and excitement. Through the thin white material of her shirt, Trouble could see slight bumps that displayed her desire far more effectively than anything else. She was ready for him. Ready after over thirty years.

She could easily be swept into his arms—or thrown over his shoulder, like a conquering warlord—and carried a good distance. The distance between the couch and his bed was pretty much negligible, but Trouble wasn't certain he could wait that long. Would she let him just pin her to the couch and do his best to ignore the cat and dog a few feet away? Which? Which? Slight delay and romance, or immediate satisfaction and a few awkward moments afterward? Because Lili _wanted_ him and he _needed_ her, and this was the only chance like this he would ever get, and he _ached_ to take her as his mate. To tell her what this all really meant for him.

"No," Trouble whispered.

* * *

Grub wasn't nearly as adept at dancing as his older brother, but he got along fairly well. Fast songs—like the complicated weaver-dance that dragged nearly every diner onto the floor to do at least the simplified steps—were often beyond his abilities, but he perked up considerably when something slow came on, fixing Vinyáya with an eager look until she rolled her eyes and allowed herself to be pulled from her chair and to the floor. Someone would have to tell him that slow dances should be greeted in a much more suave manner. With a little start, she recalled that "someone" would now have to be her.

"You okay?" Grub asked midway through the song, his hand on the small of Vinyáya's back tensing, bringing her a little closer to his body, as if he expected her to crumple to the floor at any moment.

"I'm...fine..." Vinyáya managed, mind half-focused on her bio-rhythms, getting herself back in order before she betrayed...well, anything. Because she was suddenly remembering, as Grub just tightened his grip further, lowing his head so their faces rested nose to nose, eyelashes nearly brushing together, that all elf romance novels use dancing for foreplay. Each step made their bodies brush together at a new point, and her dress touched her in places that the man dared not go in public. The choreographed movements, back and forth, side to side...there was only one thing she could think of, despite how long the evening had been and how tired she was becoming. And when he moved his head so his mouth brushed against her ear to whisper something, she was almost too taken away to understand his words.

"How am I doing?"

Vinyáya closed her eyes, a shiver shooting down her spine, all the way to her toes, which began to tingle in a manner that she couldn't explain away with her high heels. "Wo...wonderfully," she finally said.

"Mmmm..." Grub brought his head back so they could go back to having their faces—and lips—so close together, his grip growing just another fraction more intense as the music began to wind down, as if he sought to preserve their collective energy in a tighter spiral. And he succeeded quite well, creating just a little crack in Vinyáya's composure, heat rising up the back of her neck and to her cheeks as she looked up—just a very little up, but here was one of the few elves that were actually tall enough to force her to do so in heels—and pressed her mouth to his, canceling out any song-ending dip as she looked for a much more suitable ending.

When the other dancers began to drift off and the shutter-click of a few diners' cameras could be heard—not a bad headline, Vinyáya decided—Grub finally pulled away just enough to look down on her, mouth twisted in a strange smile. "I...er...always meant to ask...why me?"

Vinyáya considered. Then simply shrugged, stretching her calves so she rose up again, making another kiss inescapable. Before she claimed it, she whispered, "I have no...idea..." And let herself be distracted for the rest of the night.

* * *

He never expected to see so much disappointment on Lili's face as his answer began to sink in.

"Oh...no," she repeated. Or perhaps she was just repeating his answer. What had been small splotches of red on her cheeks now spread until her face was again suffused. "O-oh! I...oh, gods." Lili buried her face in her hands, leaning back from Trouble. "I can't believe I just _said_ that!"

Regal, alerted by his mistress's squeaks of distress, opened his eyes and focused them on Trouble. He made no sound, but the fur along the back of his neck began to rise. He shifted, managing to escape the cat's paws without waking her.

Trouble barely had time to give the pup an anger-negating look—which was not at all successful—before he went on. "Look, I'm not going to deny, I never stopped really thinking of you like that, but I want—"

"I _know_, Trouble!" Lili shouted between her fingers.

He paused. Blinked. Grinned. "You do? Oh...excellent." He leaned forward, putting a hand between them to give himself some balance and leverage as he continued to move towards her, licking his lips in preparation.

"You're right!" She declared, putting her hands down. "It would just fuck everything up!"

He paused and got it in a horrifying flash. "Lili, I don't think you under—"

"I _do_ understand. We've seen other people try it, and it never works out. Look at Vein and Lety," she spat out, gesturing to the side, as if the sprite and pixie would be standing there, ready for judgment.

"That's not what I meant," Trouble growled. "And _Vein_ is a bad example. He never stays with anyone."

"He _is_ a good example," Lili insisted, leaning towards her friend, somehow having failed to notice how much closer he was. How their breaths became mingled whenever one of them shouted. "Because _you_ never stick with someone, either!"

Trouble scowled, wondering how he could go so quickly from aroused to enraged. "I do, too!"

"No, you don't!" Lili glared back. "What's you're longest relationship!"

"_You!_" Trouble shouted, grabbing Lili's wrist, trying to pull her to him.

"I don't _count!_" Lili snapped, deftly breaking the wrist grip—Major Short had taught her well in recent months—and scowling as Trouble reached out to try and recapture her hand.

At their feet, Regal was rising, Shirley mewling in her sleep, forgotten as the dog stalked towards the male elf, his head lowered, ears back, lips arching up to display a white gleam.

"And why _not?_"

"Because we're _friends_, Trouble! We've been best friends for over thirty years, and if we...if we _sleep_ together, it'll be like Lety and Vein and...and it'll be _ruined!_"

"Oh, no! Wait a second," Trouble said, scooting closer, since Lili wasn't going to allow him to get a grip again without a good fight. He could probably overpower her without too much difficulty, but overpowering a woman that had just suggested they have sex seemed like a _bad idea_. "Their..._thing_ failed because...because..." He scowled and realized suddenly that he wasn't sure _why_ Vein and Lety had gone their separate ways. He'd always assumed Vein had been caught doing his usual thing: cheating. But could you cheat when you weren't actually dating?

"Because Lety wanted one thing and Vein wanted another and they couldn't agree and it fell apart and..." Lili pulled at her hair. "And they _hate_ each other now, and—"

"Hating Vein is not hard," Trouble interrupted. "That wouldn't happen to us. I _couldn't_ start..." Trouble floundered as he realized he'd wound up unintentionally making an argument for casual sex. "I mean, I couldn't _stop_—"

"I _know!_" Lili howled, rising from the couch, looking around as if she was trying to find her escape route. Her gaze fell upon her jacket, which was draped over the back of the recliner, and she went all the way around the coffee table to get to it, instead of cutting across in front of the table. Doing the latter would have made her go right by Trouble, who was now standing, alarmed at the woman's sudden motions, and holding out a hand.

"Lili, I didn't mean—"

Regal finally decided to make a noise, and it was low and primal, instantly making Trouble freeze. The dog insinuated himself between his owner and the male elf, every tooth bared, every muscle tense, eyes white with a sudden madness.

"It was stupid," Lili shouted over the growling, shrugging into her jacket with her back to Trouble. "I was letting my hormones get to me. Let's just forget it, never speak of it again. Okay?" She took three long strides to get to the front door, which she wrenched open, slipping out of the apartment and closing the door behind her before Trouble had a chance to risk taking a step towards the enraged hound before him.

Trouble stared at the door. After a few seconds, he looked down at Regal, mouth open in bewilderment

Regal continued growling just a little longer. Then all the anger on behalf of his foster mother seemed to flood out of him and he turned to look at the door. He waited. And waited. Then began to whine softly and yip. "M...Mommy?"

Trouble swallowed and went down on a knee, placing a hand on Regal's back. "She'll be back in a sec—"

"_Mommy!_" Regal bolted for the hall, from whence soon came a tremendous _whud!_

Trouble winced and made for the hall. He could already hear the constant _skch skch skch _of claws on the white paint, and he was certain there would be a hole there before he got the door open. "She'll be back, Regal! She'll—yah!"

Trouble's right foot was almost on the floor when he caught, in the corner of his eye, a flutter of white, instinctively shifting his weight back just in time as his own pet walked across his path, nearly sending him sprawling. Trouble was certain the feline glared back at him for a second, and her hiss was easily translated by the Gift of Tongues.

Trouble ran a hand over his tightly bound hair as he pulled the door open, the canine shooting out, desperate to catch up to his mistress. The cat was right. Trouble was an idiot.

He ran after Lili, shouting her name.

* * *

There was a reason that elves kept a babysitting roster: if you went through everyone in order, most sitters would forget that babies begin life as intricate and easily-breakable pooping machines by the time their turn came around again. Of course, parents don't get to forget this fact and come home with a similarly optimistic view on their newborn's self-sufficiency, but it is useful in getting the sitters to _leave_ when their services are no longer needed. Grub had to go through a few short minutes of talking to his mother when they got home, but Vinyáya managed to beg off the duty thanks to her stretched and nearly aching breasts. Not that nursing really felt any better (even though the nurses had _assured_ her it would turn into a most _magical_ experience...lying bitches...), but she knew that, once the pain was over, she would feel a lot better.

Vinyáya spent a few extra minutes putting the nursery back into some semblance of order—apparently, Grub did not get his cleaning obsession from his mother—before giving up and recognizing that, even if she spent hours on the room, the man would probably come in early the next day and redo everything. And he'd probably be happy doing it, too.

Vinyáya was eager for bed, but, despite the earlier thrills on the dance floor, she didn't want to do anything there but close her eyes. Children did very inconvenient thing to your libido, she had long ago learned. Despite this, when Vinyáya had put the girl down for the night and gone down the hall to her room, she spent some time looking at the bed in a most disapproving manner.

She turned back around and almost stomped—but held back, to avoid unintentionally waking the newborn—down the hall until she came to the spare bedroom, whose door she opened without warning, flicking the light switch, which turned on the bedside lamp placed sadistically close to Grub's unsuspecting face.

"Ah!" Grub gasped, hands flying up to cover his eyes. "What? What did I _doooo?_" He held the last word out for a few extra syllables, almost like a dog howling.

"What are you doing in here?" Vinyáya snapped at the man in the one-person bed.

"I...well...I'm trying to sleep," Grub mumbled, unwilling to move his hand. "I can't...I don't...I'm really _tired_, okay?"

"So am I," she shot back, really wishing she could shout. That kid was making their conversations a lot less high-energy just by the fear she inspired. "So what are you doing?"

"Sleeping!" Grub shot back, taking the pillow that had been against his stomach and pressing it to his face, as if he were trying to suffocate himself and end his own misery.

"In _here?_"

"Of course! Why not? This _is_ my room." He sighed, the sound almost lost in cotton padding. "Look, I just...I'm _really _tired, okay?"

Vinyáya rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I get it. So...ah." Her eyes narrowed as she actually _did_ realize what he was trying to say. Of _course_. It only made sense. What had their relationship been based upon up until just a few days ago? Vinyáya massaged the side of her head. This dating thing was going to be _really_ difficult, she suddenly realized.

"Fine," she grumbled, coming to a decision. "If you're going to be like that..." She turned away from the male.

Grub let out a sigh of relief.

Vinyáya grabbed the bottom of her dress, pulling the stretchy black material over her head, letting out a little sound of approval as her breasts were freed of the pressure, not even bothering to aim for the nearby laundry basket as she tossed the dress aside. It landed on the floor with a soft but still audible noise. It would probably drive the man mad to know it was there, out of place, all through the night... Well...he deserved a little torment after acting like such a moron.

Vinyáya grabbed the pillow Grub had put over his face, wrenching it away.

Startled by the attack, Grub opened his eyes, preparing to protest, instead squawking at the sight before him. Vinyáya had worn at least one half of traditional female undergarments, saving him from a complete mental breakdown, but that still addled him enough so that he was unable to react in time to grab the blankets before they were tugged out from under his body, the woman slipping into the little extra space the bed allowed.

"Wh-what are you doing!" Grub howled, pushing back on the mattress until he pressed to the wall. What little drowsiness he had retained during the argument was lost as Vinyáya turned her back to him, placing the pillow she had stolen at the head of the bed.

"Shhh!" She insisted, a finger to her lips as she twisted her back to glare at the man. She turned off the beside lamp—she bet doing that instead of hitting the wall switch would drive him mad, too, and it made her bubbly with joy—before she settled down, pulling the blankets up to cover her chest.

"Sleeping," she grumbled, closing her eyes.

"But...but..."

"_Sleeping_," she snarled. "Now shut up. You'll wake the baby."

It was a very long time before Vinyáya felt the mattress move and the covers shift as Grub edged away from the wall, putting his head back down on his one remaining pillow. With two people in the bed, it was inevitable that they touched, and Vinyáya waited, wondering...and then, yes, there it was. At first, just his fingertips on her waist, testing, awaiting the traditional reprimand. Then Grub's hand began to slide up her side and over her stomach, his body coming in closer and closer until his chest rested against her back, their feet touching under the sheets, the man's breath stirring the hairs along the nape of her neck, heating her skin. His hand came up to idly play with one breast and she felt an extra pressure from his groin, but both soon faded as the man's breathing slowed.

When she was sure he was asleep, Vinyáya allowed herself a nearly silent laugh. Tomorrow was going to be extremely awkward. Not because they would wake up together, pressed close—she found she was strangely excited about that, despite her exhaustion—but because she was going to have to find a way to ask a man to move in with her—something she had never considered with previous lovers—when he already _lived_ with her.

She smiled into her pillow, pressing further into Grub's body, not minding his tiny snores. She didn't imagine he'd take much convincing.

* * *

Trouble sighed and looked at the warm body in his bed, pressed so tight and unwilling to leave. He wondered how someone could come to...to _need_ him so much. While he had plenty of subordinates in the LEP expecting him to take charge, he had never allowed that dependence to extend to his daily life. To include, even for a one-night-stand, complete responsibility for something he didn't _have_ to take care of.

"You okay?" Trouble asked, rubbing one of his bed-partner's ears soothingly.

Regal whimpered and licked Trouble's nose.

"Yeah, I know, boy. I'll take you home when we wake up," he reassured. This late in the day and after Lili had no doubt blasted through the security gate, the Hill's guards would not be so keen to let him in. He'd have gladly gone immediately, if only she'd answer her phone, but nothing he'd tried worked. Lili was silent.

Trouble couldn't figure out why he felt like the bad guy when he'd done everything right.

* * *

**Preview: "After all this time/I never thought we'd be here,/ never thought we'd be here,/ when my love for you was blind,/ but I couldn't make you see it/ couldn't make you see it./ That I loved you more than you'll ever know,/ and part of me died when I let you..."**

* * *

**Sorry for the long delay. Was doing really well on schoolwork. Expect more silence for the next 2 or 3 weeks while I finish graduating, and then probably a flurry of posting as I enjoy not having to learn about data structures and copyright law. And then probably a complete Internet absence sometime in May or June, when I'll be moving and taking a week or so computer break.**

**I recommend taking a week off from the computer every so often. It feels kinda good.**

**In related news, I'll be spending the next few months working on an erotica collection, based on fairy tales. Anyone got a less-common fairy tale you think would be ripe ground for a smut tree?**


	53. More Than You'd Ever Know

**Song: "Blind" by Lifehouse**

* * *

**Chapter 53: More Than You'd Ever Know**

Lili didn't come back that day. After a half-hour, Trouble had braved calling the princess's cell. Regal knew enough about fairy technology to sit before Trouble and bark nonstop once Lili's voice came on the speaker, but he didn't know enough to recognize a voicemail and stop demanding that she come and take him home. Nor did he get it by the time Trouble had called for the third time. He'd called Holly and tried to have her get in contact with her subordinate, but, though she managed to get Frond to answer, the first mention of her friend's name had caused the woman to hang up and all subsequent calls went straight to messages.

Trouble wasn't sure what to do from there. He could drive up to the Hill, but he somehow thought that the gate guards wouldn't let him in after seeing Lili's state when she came home, even if he had her dog as an excuse. So he did his best to reassure Regal that they would go in the evening, right after they woke up, and made a bed of extra blankets on the couch, sacrificing his best pillow for the pup's comfort.

He's spent the rest of the night trying to breath, his lungs weighed down by the whimpering dog, who had broken down Trouble's door with just two good charges (proving to the Commander, once again, that his apartment was crap) and scrambled on top of Trouble. He whimpered and licked the mans chin whenever Trouble tried to get some personal space, until the elf finally gave up and tried to get some sleep.

Luckily, Regal had enough courtesy to bring the pillow with him as he took out the door, so he at least had that back. Even if it smelled a little like drool.

Unluckily, Shirley took over three-quarters of the pillow, leaving the thinnest (and wettest) corner for his owner, who could do little more than whimper his own protest. And Shirley cared about her elf's protests about as much as any other cat cares about their owner's desires.

When evening came and Haven was waking up for another long night of work, Trouble was at the Hill's gates, keeping his head down, expecting the security guards to leap out and demand he halt. They were hired guards, so they lacked LEP weaponry, but they could certainly call the LEP in after a trespasser. Trouble did not relish the idea of trying to order his own officers to stand down.

The guards didn't make a move, though, and Trouble gave Regal's ruff a good scratch as they began to wind their way through the steep, tree-choked streets, making their way up to the highest house on the Hill.

Principality Hill hadn't always been for the financial elite. Originally, King Frond and his closest military supporters had been encamped there to guard the People's original entrance to Haven, in case humans ever found the topside tunnels and waged a war on the underworld. When the tunnels had closed, land near the royals went up in value as the citizens of Haven looked for a way to influence government. The original foot-hardened paths were churned up by machines and planted with saplings taken straight from the surface, now fed by hydroponics and more than a little magic, until each enormous house was hidden from view by leaves and thick branches. The higher one went on the hill, the more the houses sold for, until one came to the house on the top that had never been up for sale, and was likely literally priceless.

Regal almost pulled Trouble's arm out of his socket as they got out of the car. The Commander was strong, but even he didn't have the strength to fight the dog every step of the way, which was probably for the best. If he'd been allowed to hesitate, he probably couldn't have made himself walk up the gravel path to the marble-columned entryway. He might not have had the resolve to knock, and would have instead let Regal bark and scratch until his owner came to the door, but, when Trouble put his hand to the elaborate gold handle, leaning against it a little, it clicked and the door swung open easily, making Trouble curse, because he had told Lili a _million_ times that she needed to lock her doors, or someone would come in one day.

Someone she didn't want to come in uninvited.

Trouble winced at the thought as he was dragged through the door and, by the time he opened his eyes again, Lili was there in the main hall, staring at him, still in fuzzy blue slippers and green flannel pajamas decorated with black paw-prints, her long hair tangled up close to her head, held in place by a long-toothed silver hair clip.

Trouble wanted to run away, because she was staring at him and at nothing else, and he couldn't quite tell what her expression was saying or what exactly had made her mascara smear down her cheeks in the night.

His retreat was made easier as Regal finally lost control and, with a mighty lunge, broke his collar, feet scrabbling on the hard floor until he was a foot away from Lili. There he stopped and flipped onto his back so rapidly that his backbone cracked against the floor, making Lili gasp in sympathy-pain. Eyes averted, tail tucked up to his chest, Regal whimpered, "I didn't mean to growl at him, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, don't get rid of me, please please please, I'll do anything, _please!"_

Lili stared down at Regal, astonished, and what little color she had drained from her face, highlighting the light gray mascara trail even further. "Oh...oh, gods, I..._d'arvit!_" Falling to her knees, Lili wrapped her arms around the pup, dragging him onto her lap, squeezing tight. She buried her face in his fur and shook her head, mouth filling with hair as she tried to talk. "Oh, baby! _I'm sorry._ Shhh!"

"Didn't mean to growl, I _didn't_ mean to growl!" Regal tucked his face under Lili's arm, hiding.

"You did just fine, Regal," Lili reassured, holding the dog tighter. "It's my fault. You did _fine_. I just didn't think and I got home and started to...to..."

She couldn't say what her mistake had been, but Trouble could smell it well enough. A little like bread baking and a little like sick. No wonder she had been so surprised when they walked in. She'd probably got in such a stupor that she couldn't recall half of the night. When Lili pulled away just enough to look up at Trouble, he was certain that the one part of the night she had been trying to _forget_ was the one part she actually remembered. She turned her head back into the dog's fur a moment after their eyes met, and went silent, just stroking his fur and slowly easing the canine's trembling.

Trouble let her have a minute of torment, because she really did deserve it, leaving her dog and getting too smashed to remember the creature, but that was all he could take. He walked towards the girl and her dog, his footsteps seeming to bounce off the walls, each echo making Lili tense up a fraction more, until she was as hard as stone as Trouble stopped before her and crouched down so they could be on a level.

Lili didn't look up.

Trouble sighed, knowing she never would.

Reaching out, he curved one arm around Lili's back and pulled the woman to his chest, not minding that the dog came with her, pressed between their bodies, as he was certain he would never get the pup to voluntarily leave the woman's side again.

He gave Lili a few seconds' opportunity to struggle against him and, when she didn't, Trouble wrapped his other arm around her, almost crushing the woman as he held her close. Even in this hard grip, she didn't try to move away, and Trouble let himself blend into the touch and the raspberry scent on her hair, until he managed to whisper, "You're my best friend, Lili."

When she pulled away just a little, he allowed it, and she only moved enough in his arms to look up at his face. She must have been crying at some point as she held Regal, since there was a dark spot on Regal's side and several white tufts of fur on her cheekbones.

Trouble laughed and took one arm away so he could bring his hand up to cup Lili's face, his thumb brushing along her cheek to remove the dog hair. "I'm not going to let that go _that_ easily." Even though the fur was gone, he let his thumb continue stroking Lili's face, which was _so_ close to his. So close that he couldn't help but tilt his head up and brush his lips across her forehead. Couldn't help whispering, "I love you, Tiger Lily" and then he had to fight to keep from squeezing her to death as his heart lurched to a halt, because, oh _shit_, he'd _said it!_

Lili was silent, at first. Then, the change in her first felt as a sharp movement all through her body, she laughed and took one arm from around Regal, putting it about Trouble's waist and nuzzling into his chest. From this angle, he could just barely see her smiling, but he easily heard, even muffled through his shirt, her return of, "Love ya, too, Trubs."

Trouble closed his eyes, and now he knew his heart had stopped. How could it be so nearly the same words, but seem to mean something completely different?

He stopped squeezing so tight. Let her shift away from him, diplomatically ignoring her hand as it came to wipe at her cheeks, taking away more hair and tears. When she was mostly clean and looking up at him, smiling small and tentative, he smiled back, soft and with just a little of his roguish quirk, reaching up to pinch off a last bit of fur.

"So...whatever you want to do, Lili...I'm okay with it."

Lili hesitated, and that hesitation let Trouble know that she understood what he meant. She was his best friend. He loved her (even if she didn't understand that completely). Whatever she wanted to happen, would happen. Even if that meant risking everything and going to bed together. Because, if she wanted it, he would give it all to her. Even if it destroyed him, like it had nearly destroyed his brother.

She chewed on her lower lip—which made him want to claim it with his own to stop the abuse, though Trouble restrained himself—as she thought.

Swallowing and looking down, she murmured, "I want...Trouble...we...we should take Regal for his walk."

It was what they did every Saturday morning. Met up, recapped the night if they'd been on the town, and went for a walk until they hit one of the Hill's cafes for breakfast, the routine lately barely altered by the addition of the canine. It was what they had always done, and that, of course, was the real answer.

Trouble nodded and loosened his arms so he could stand and assist Lili to her feet, at which point he let her go completely, stepping back. He looked down at his right hand and saw that he still held the dog's leash and the broken collar, and he sheepishly offered it to the woman. "Er...I'll get him a new one," he offered. "I could go to the store and back in a few minutes."

"It's okay," she laughed, examining the break. "He was getting too big for it, anyway, and I sort of doubt he's going to leave my side, after all this."

"Of course not," Trouble said, reaching out again to take Lili's hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tight when she looked up at him. "Why would he? Come on," he urged, tugging her towards the front door. "I'm starved."

* * *

Of course, Vinyáya and Grub were woken in the night by the summons of their newborn. Twice, in fact. The first time, Vinyáya had been allowed to remain in bed as Grub changed diapers (yes, diapers, plural, as Yarrow was only in the new nappie five minutes before she let loose again with a satisfied coo) and sleepily played with her as quietly as possible until she was tired once more. When he came back to bed, Vinyáya thought she heard something about "peek-a-fucking-boo my ass," but she thought it best to not reply. It was a wise move, and both were asleep again within minutes.

The second time, Vinyáya should have expected her milk-bar services would be required, but she still grumbled when Grub came in and gently prodded her until she was forced to accept reality. She began to sit up, but got another prod from the male, and she snapped at his finger irritably.

Grub paused, holding his hand closer to his chest, as if she really would bite it off. He had great fears that one day the snapping really would result in a minor amputation, though now he mostly worried it would be by mistake (...mostly). When Yarrow let out a little keen and turned her head against his chest, keening louder as she discovered his distressing lack of mammaries, he said, "On your side. So you can lie down."

Vinyáya decided she _loved_ the idea of not getting up, and she willingly took instructions from her bed-partner, opening her mouth in a silent cry of pain for what seemed like the hundredth time as Yarrow latched on.

"Sorry," Grub murmured, sitting next to her head and running a hand through the woman's hair, his nails trailing in her scalp, sending little pleasurable tumbles out from the contacts.

"Any idea when the pain stops, oh guru?" Vinyáya looked up at Grub and...realized she was looking up at Grub. While she nursed. Heat flashed to her face and she forgot to cup and aim her breast, which popped from Yarrow's mouth, making the unsatisfied babe hiccup and writhe, mouth opening and closing as it sought out her mother's skin.

"Oops," Grub murmured, using his free hand to reach down and prop up Yarrow's head, bringing her back to the nipple, smiling softly when she stopped fussing long enough to realize she'd been given what she wanted.

"It could be a while," Grub finally responded, going back to stroking Vinyáya's hair. Every so often, he would run his hands all he way through to the ends, watching the smooth slide of the silver locks and the way they shimmered at each curve, catching what little light was in the room. He seemed to have a small obsession with her hair, though he managed to restrain himself just on the edge of something creepy, like smelling it or taking a clipping. "Especially since she gets a bottle half the time. But it should go away eventually."

"I...um..." Vinyáya blinked, having quite quickly forgotten what he was talking about. She was a bit too stuck on the idea of facing the man who greatly enjoyed an activity not too different from what Yarrow was doing at the moment, and having him _watch_. "It...isn't this _weird_ to you?"

Grub frowned. "Weird?"

Vinyáya looked down at her chest, and then back up.

"Oh!" Grub stopped playing with Vinyáya's hair, though he merely moved his hand to lay loosely around her shoulders, fingers making tiny circles on the side of her neck. "I...well...it's not...sexy," he coughed the word, "or anything. It's...more weird that you...that I'm here. Um...willingly. On your part."

Vinyáya considered this for some time before nodding, doing so quite slowly, anything quicker likely to interrupt the nursing and result in more distressed cries. She had thought very little about post-pregnancy life before the baby came, and never did she think of any activity as communal. She'd recognized that Yarrow's care was something both of them were responsible for, but she considered it as more of a turn-based system. Even when they joined together as lovers once more, the baby had been a...tangential consideration for her. So laying here, being watched, talking...it was...

Vinyáya shook her head. Perhaps someone more learned would have a word for this, but she wasn't quite ready to look for a definition. Instead, she moved up the bed a few inches. Again, the child lost contact with a nipple and began to fuss, with Grub tensing up at the first sound. He reached out to assist, but Vinyáya batted his hand away.

He whimpered at this, sounding even more pathetic than his hungry child.

Turning, Vinyáya lay on her back, resting her head on Grub's thigh, her hair flowing over his leg in a thick sheet. Only when she was settled in did she allow Grub to pick up Yarrow and lay his girl on her mother's chest, where the feeding began again, moving to the other breast.

Vinyáya closed her eyes, an eyebrow twitching as the only sign of her pain as another nipple was broken in.

She eased when Grub ran his fingers across her brow and over her cheeks, careful to avoid touching her ears. His avoidance of her erogenous zones accomplished very little and, when he came back from laying Yarrow down to sleep about half an hour later, Vinyáya asked—or perhaps _ordered_, but in the nicest manner possible—him to soothe away her pains, which he did slowly and carefully over the next hour, both elves trying to be as quiet as possible to avoid interrupting the newborn's rest. Soft. Sleepy. Breathless. Kept close, close together by the small bed and each other's arms.

* * *

The kerfuffle over the parents' relationship eventually died down and the LEP returned to relative normality. Life wasn't as hard for the two hard-working parents as one might think. The People bred slowly, and they loved their children. Thus, the LEP actually had a daycare set-up, which allowed Grub and Vinyáya to return to work rather quickly. It should not be assumed that they actually _availed _themselves of this service too often, however. More often than not, Grub could be found in his office, processing paperwork as Yarrow slept in her car seat. Frequently, he would read out the text to her in the standard doting father tone, which was only somewhat unnerving when you realized he was telling his darling about changing speed limits or picking out officers for whatever cross-departmental raid was going on that week.

When she was placed in daycare, Grub was on edge, and would check in every half-hour to see if Yarrow had begun to run a fever or had gotten a scape or had stopped loving him. Luckily, none of these ever occurred, though this didn't seem to increase his confidence in the system. Whenever Yarrow had to go in for one of her few inoculations (and they were _very_ few...Grub had no idea how Vinyáya had developed a resistance to quite so many diseases, but he was glad for it), he spent the entire day with her cradled in one arm, trying to do his paperwork with the other, pressing his cheek to her forehead after every page to see if she needed a boost of magic to overcome the virus. Most of his work clothes now had one or more throw-up stains, despite the People's phenomenal cleaning abilities.

The lovers spent most of their days off together, and were rather surprised to find that they didn't fight nearly so much as they had anticipated. Oh, they certainly _did_ fight, and Grub remained rather quiet in comparison to Vinyáya's screams, but there was something different in the arguments. For one, Grub didn't back down as quickly as he had when he was just a tenant. He took the abuse, but then he came back with remarks that sometimes made Vinyáya stare at him for several seconds before grumbling and walking away. In these cases, Grub realized he had won, and spent the rest of the day feeling pretty smug.

When she would _continue_ to yell, he realized he had lost and gave up graciously. At which point she would not look smug herself...actually, she looked and acted something _quite_ different. And Grub found he was _totally_ okay with losing.

Their shifts were synched, to make spending time together easier, but Vinyáya refused to join Grub in his new car for the commute. So, every morning, Grub got some time alone with his daughter, and he reveled in it. He knew all too well that she would eventually realize that her father was completely lame, so he enjoyed her cooing worship while it lasted.

Still, he realized that the mother needed some time to bond with her child alone, and he was around the two women most of the time. This was part of the reason why he decided to take his next Ritual trip without his mate. She had been confused, at first, but did not protest. She wasn't quite below the halfway mark on her magic, and conducting the ritual with someone else was an act normally reserved for close family or committed lovers, and she thought that it probably was too soon to share the event. The occasional reporters that managed to corner the woman liked to inquire about the odd order of events in their relationship, but she had long ago decided that thinking about it was ill-advised.

When the full moon arrived, Grub seemed uncommonly nervous, darting about the house as he tried to put it in perfect order before leaving it without his guiding influence. It was as if he expected every dish to spontaneously become dirty in just a few hours. (Vinyáya was half-tempted to go rub them in the backyard vegetable garden just to see his reaction later that evening, but decided he'd been a good boy that week and didn't deserve it.)

The doorbell..._rang._

Grub yelped, looking at the entryway.

Vinyáya, walking down the hall and passing the frozen man, reflected that she maybe should change it to something less ominous. She opened the door and leaned against the frame, sighing in a long-suffering manner. "Get him out of here before he has a heart attack. Or before I kill him. Whichever comes first."

Trouble casually saluted her. "Can do. Grub." He jerked his head back, indicating the red car waiting at the sidewalk. "Your ass: in gear." Without even bothering to make sure his brother was following, the commander swung about on his heel and walked back to the vehicle, where he waited in a thoroughly impatient manner, hand lightly tapping the steering wheel, just barely keeping himself from honking.

Grub grunted in disgust at the treatment from his blood. Grabbing his messenger bag and slinging it over a shoulder, he hustled towards the door, pausing in front of the woman. "You'll be fine?" He looked back over his shoulder, eyes narrowing, as if he could see through the walls and into the nursery.

"Yes, yes," Vinyáya consented, nodding, her head also tilting back and forth a bit. She flapped her hands in an effort to move him out of the doorway and towards the car. "Go. I'll...we will be _just_ fine."

Grub chewed his lower lip, glancing between Vinyáya and the back rooms several times. Heaving a deep breath, he nodded. "Okay...but call me if you need anything. And the keys to my car are next to the front door if there's an emergency. And Mom's number is on the fridge. And there's a first aid kit in the top left cabinet of the nursery. And I got a emergency survival ki—"

"Grub!"

Obediently, he shut up, except for a small whimper. After a last visual inspection of the house, he leaned in, lightly and swiftly brushing his lips against Vinyáya's. "Love you," he said and trotted down the steps.

Vinyáya's backed out of the doorway, a hand flying to cover her lips.

On the final step, Grub's body froze, his momentum carrying him down to the garden path, where he stumbled a few steps before standing, hands clenched at his sides, eyes squeezed shut.

"I..." Vinyáya blinked, curling her fingers into a tight fist and turning her head away. "I..."

"Just...just forget it." Grub shook his head, continuing on towards his brother's car, eyes stormy.

"Love you, too."

Spinning, messy hair flying and getting in his eyes, Grub stared at Vinyáya, mouth open. She did not look back at him. He wasn't breathing, so, when he tried to speak, it came out as a thin squeak. "Y-you...?"

Vinyáya shrugged. "Well...yeah. I sup—_pah!_"

Grub was back with her in a second, wrapping his arms around the woman's neck, not in the fashion of a proud lover, but instead like a little boy receiving a gift he had been desperately hoping for, but which his family had often assured him was far too expensive. He held tight, the pressure enough to choke a frailer woman, and babbled. "Oh, gods, I love you, Vinyáya. I love you, I love you, I love you, I—"

"Hey. Hey!" She laughed, gently pushing him away. "I get it, don't worry." Seeking to ease the sting she'd caused by removing him, which he was already betraying by a growing sulk, she kissed his nose. "You can tell me more when you're back home...and we have some time alone."

Grub blushed, but he also grinned, and it was that devilish Kelp smile that he only ever managed when he wasn't trying. He leaned in, but Vinyáya stepped back, ducking out from under his arms. Her laughter was soft, but still somewhat annoyed, and she was now shoving him towards the street.

"Go! Unless you _want_ to keep your brother waiting while we..." When his wicked look did not diminish at the idea of the delay, she propelled him straight off the stairs. "OUT!"

Trouble looked up from the wheel, concerned at the yelling. When his little brother merely swaggered down the garden path and slid into the passenger seat, he eased. "What was that about?"

Grub put on his seat-belt, pausing with his hand at the buckle. Looking up at his brother, he beamed. "She loves me!"

Trouble blinked. "Um...congratulations?"

* * *

Some hours later, on the surface, Commander and Captain Kelp flitted over a rock-choked brook, the elder elf nervously checking his helmet readouts to make sure all was well. Technically, they were not on duty, at the moment, but he had commandeered a few supplies when Grub suggested they share the full moon. No one would begrudge the Commander access to a pair of Shimmer suits and helmets, unless the Council decided to audit the supplies, and there was that small, _wonderful_ factor that one of the Council's lovers was involved in this trip. Yay, nepotism!

Their feet sank into the loamy soil, and both paused at the soft _squish_, eyes flashing across their helmet feeds to, once gain, make sure no Mud Man was nearby to catch that sound. Grub had specifically requested a Ritual site far from humans, and Foaly had obliged with a relatively isolated tree, far from highways and houses, the nearby stream almost dried up. Still, even though none of the People's proximity sensors had gone off, it was in an elf's nature to be cautious, and it took them several minutes of checking before Trouble took the plunge. Standing tall, he pushed the release mechanism on the side of his helmet, which hissed softly and lifted a fraction from his neck. Removing the helmet, Trouble grabbed the base of his ponytail, shaking it out until it rested halfway down his back. Trying to act confident, despite the last few minutes of nervous checking, Trouble pushed his brother's shoulder, making the man lean sideways before his leg shot out to stabilize him.

"Stop being a dweeb and get an acorn. We've got Ritual leave, not a weekend vacation."

Straightening up, Grub also removed his helmet, yelping as his hair caught in the mechanisms. Maybe it _was_ time to get it cut... "We both have the day off, so why rush?"

Trouble strode to the ancient oak. It was a squat tree, twisted by years of wind on this flat plain. Hopping, he grabbed a low branch, swinging up to a higher assortment of acorns. Technically, you could take any of the seeds and complete the Ritual, but decorum said healthy fairies should go for the higher bunches, leaving lower ones for children and the ill, even if a site was visited infrequently. "We have a deadline, as you well know, and I am _not_ going to deal with the media circus if a _commander_ needs to be taken in by Retrieval when he goes AWOL on the surface." By now in the highest branches, Trouble pulled at a clump of acorns, removing one.

"There have been bigger scandals in the LEP," Grub replied, having climbed to nearly the same height, removing his own acorn. Both elves leapt from the tree and into the air, with Trouble taking off back across the creek while Grub floated to the ground, waiting for his brother to catch on that he wasn't following.

It didn't take long and, as the superior officer returned, he looked irritated. "What is it, Grub? Wings not working? Gods, ask Foaly for some equipment, and what does he give you?" He made for Grub's back, but the young male stepped out of reach, angling his pack away.

"We've got a _little_ time, right?" Grub asked hopefully. He had checked their schedule quite closely, and what he had planned shouldn't put them outside of their surface visa's allowances, and no one would question an extra minute here or there from Commander Kelp. "I was thinking we could walk a bit. Talk."

Trouble narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Talk."

"Yes." Grub held up his hand, forming it into a duck head and making it speak (though he did not move it in time as if the hand was speaking for him, instead merely illustrating his point). "Talk. Leisurely stroll, heart-to-heart, that sort of thing."

Trouble groaned at the very idea. He preferred to accompany his emotional conversations with alcohol. "Grub, can't we just—"

Grub held his open palm in his brother's face. Once he had silence, the younger sibling pointed upstream. Without even waiting for an affirmative response, Grub began to walk.

Trouble stood his ground...for a few seconds. Then, stomping and grumbling, he followed. He appreciated being on the surface, and a brisk walk in the cold night air was invigorating, but _talking?_ Ugh.

After some silence, Trouble decide it was best to just get the conversation going so maybe he could enjoy part of his time above ground. "Well. I can guess why _you're _so happy."

"Hmmm?" Grub sought to shove his hands in his pockets, but remembered a moment too late that he didn't have any in this outfit. He let his hands shoot past the suit's nearly empty utility belt, curving back up so he clasped his hands behind his head in an attempt to look smooth. "I don't know _what_ you're talking about."

Grumbling, Trouble finally got to his brother's side and matched pace. "Don't even Grub. That little display outside of the Plaza, and when I picked you up? The Wing Commander has graciously welcomed you back into her bed."

"That's classy," Grub admonished. "You couldn't say 'good graces?'"

"With that annoying bounce in your step of late? Not likely."

Grub snorted. "I've got better reasons than just the sex...though, gotta tell you, I missed that like you wouldn't _believe!_"

Trouble stuck out his tongue, veering away from his brother. "Too much info, Grub. What _has_ got you so worked up?"

Smiling, Grub followed his brother and put his arm around the skeeved elf's shoulders. "Like I said, she loves me, Trubbs." He squeezed Troble hard. "Can you _believe_ it?"

First shooting his gaze up and down the thinner man's body, Trouble slowly shook his head. "No. She must be crazy."

"Crazy in _love_," Grub crooned, doing a quick spin and hugging himself, walking backward so he could keep eye contact with the Commander. "So that means my plans for tonight are _on._"

"Your plans?" Trouble ventured. His self-preservation instincts were screaming at him to fly like the wind, genetic ties be damned. "Grub..."

"Calm down, bro," the captain admonished, leaning to the side so he bumped shoulders with the other male in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Just completing the Ritual, maybe get some food, something like that."

"Hmph," Trouble said noncommittally, though his tension was evaporating.

"Go look at engagement rings..."

"Woah!" Trouble, who had raised his right foot a quarter-inch from the ground, slammed it back down, transferring that into a rapid back-pedal. "Woah woah woah!" He held his hands out between himself and his younger brother. "Woah!"

Grub looked at the small screen on his wrist, checking the time. "Can you hurry up with the panic attack? We've got a lot of jewelery shops to hit. I want a ring before I head home."

"_Woah!_" Trouble shook his head. "No!"

Grub scowled. "Explain?"

"Look, don't get me wrong," Trouble stammered, continuing his retreat. "That's great, really, I'm happy for you both, but you are _not_ dragging _me_ along with you to look for an _engagement_ ring. I just..._no_."

"And why not?" Grub followed his brother, crossing his arms over his chest. "Who else am I going to do this with?"

"Look, I don't know, I don't care." Trouble cut his hands through the air, denying the very idea. "I am _not_ going. If I'm seen in one of those places, people will get ideas." He lowered his voice, as if someone would be able to hear this sensitive conversation. "_Women_ will get ideas."

"I can't do this alone. I need you with me, bro, so...let them get ideas." He chuckled. "Maybe it's time someone got those sorts of ideas about you."

Trouble scowled, shaking his head. "Grub, I...just...anyone who would be interested is someone I don't _want_ to notice, okay?"

"Sure, buddy," Grub breezed, stopping to dig his toe into the earth, making a hole to deposit his acorn. "Sure."

* * *

Living with..._dating_ Grub Kelp was seriously hindering Vinyáya's ability to do her Section 8 paperwork (and, yes, even super-secret organizations with private funding and instant go-ahead from top government officials have paperwork). Thus, she was a bit glad that he had decided to take his Ritual leave without her. She was efficient and had made quite a dent on the virtual pile in the hours he had been gone, but a shrill sound from down the hall informed her that progress was about to be halted. Again.

Vinyáya groaned, pushing back from the desk and rubbing her eyes. She _had _to get this done tonight. Short had picked up as much slack as she could, but there was only so much the second-in-command could do without the Commander's final approval, and eventually she would figure out that some of Vinyáya's "completely strapped" time was devoted to father instead of child.

Grumbling, Vinyáya stood and went down the hall to Yarrow's gender-defyingly blue room. Her ears flattened to her head as the cry rose in volume. The child had a shorter temper than Root, and they weren't even _related_.

Leaning over the crib, she sniffed the air. No scent of dirty diaper, and she had gotten quite attuned to that, despite avoiding them at all costs. Yarrow had also fed just recently, so it couldn't be hunger. _D'arvit_, why was she _crying_?

Vinyáya backed away from the crib until she was out of sight of the bawling infant, waiting, asking the gods if they could, just this once, make the kid _stop _and go back to sleep_._

Inside the crib, the wail went up yet another octave.

Vinyáya gritted her teeth and closed her eyes for a moment, mastering a hot flash along her throat. No. The gods _never_ helped her. They were too busy getting _drunk_ and having their Greco-Roman _orgies_ and she was going to _piss_ in Eileithyia's temple if she ever went to the maternity ward again.

The sustained cry was broken up by coughing for some seconds, with a little silence as the child gasped for breath, finally returning to ear-splitting screams once she had refueled.

"_D'arvit, _fine!" Vinyáya stepped forward once more, leaning over the crib and sliding a hand under Yarrow's head and rump. "Just shut—"

Hot and wet. Yarrow's PJs were soaked through, clamming up Vinyáya's hands. Now that she was up close, held before the Commander's chest, Vinyáya caught a different scent. Not refuse, as she had been looking for, but something sour which made her want to put the child down and back away. Vinyáya hadn't been around a sick fairy since Holly's brief illness a year ago, and before that her last exposure had been during the Spelltropy epidemic. Both events were burned into her mind, and this sudden scent sped up her brain far quicker than even the child's temperature hand. And her face...it was _pale_ and, while her voice was shrill, Yarrow barely moved and—

"Shit," Vinyáya breathed, the speed of her mind increasing with each small observation, until she couldn't think straight. Just one fact, repeating in her head. One word, really.

_Grub..._

* * *

Trouble was glad that Haven had so much magnetized track laid down to ease traffic, or else they would have died a long, long time ago. Even though he wasn't the one holding the..._thing_, he kept looking over to the passenger seat, it's shine going straight into his eyes while the small amount of gold called to his fairy senses, demanding attention.

"Will you put that away!" Trouble snapped, squeezing his steering wheel, which jerked under his hands.

Grub snapped the ring box closed, putting it on his lap and covering it with his hands. "Sorry!"

"Thank you," Trouble returned with more than a tinge of sarcasm. He looked to the road again, waiting for their off-ramp.

In the passenger seat, Grub tapped a finger on the velvet case. He looked down at it. Bit his lip. Stroked the smooth material. Carefully, carefully put his finger in the gap, easing it open, squinting, looking inside.

"_D'arvit_, Grub! What is _wrong _with you!"

"Look at_ iiiiiiit,_" Grub said in a sort of growl, snapping the box open and shoving the diamond solitaire in Trouble's face.

"Gyah!" Trouble batted at the box, making contact, his brother shrieking in horror as his grip was compromised, though he soon had the box clasped tight in both hands, held against his lap for safety.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" The younger male glared, hunched over the ring like it was a full dragon's horde, instead of one of the least-impressive selections at the shop. He'd opted for the quality of the stone, instead of size, and that meant an eighth-inch thick white gold band holding up a round cut diamond that was just a tiny bit over a quarter-carat large. The dwarf jeweler had made several disparaging comments about the choice, mostly along the lines of "and do you think she'll say...yes?" when looking directly at the ring, but Grub had not been dissuaded. With a child included in his expenses, even this selection was a stretch.

The dwarf had spent more time talking to Trouble than to Grub, and had brought out dozens of massive stones, despite the Commander's protests. Including—with a wink that took about two seconds and involved squeezing up the entire right side of the jeweler's face—several _princess cut_ gems. Trouble had to exercise all of his self-control to stay inside the shop until Grub had made his decision. He just thanked the gods that no paparazzi were in attendance. If he was lucky, this debacle wouldn't appear in the news. If he was extremely unlucky, it would, but Grub's part would be completely unknown, and every female fairy Trouble had ever even so much as _flirted_ with would decide to give him a call.

"I don't see why you couldn't just use Mom's," Trouble finally muttered, taking over steering as the car beeped its warning and they were disengaged from the magnetic tracks, coasting down the off-ramp.

"Well, first of all, I'd have to _ask_ her for it."

Trouble chewed his cheek and nodded. "Yeah. Good point. But...ya know..._why_? It can't be because of the kid." He turned his head just enough to slit his eyes at his brother. "It _better_ not be because of Yarrow."

"No," Grub said, rolling his eyes. "I _told_ you. She_ loves_ me. It...it's _right, _now."

"You've only been dating for a few months."

"Trouble...how long could _you_ wait if you and Lili..." Grub trailed off, clutching the ring tighter, in case the suggestion was taken poorly and his precious box was flung to the side of the road.

Trouble tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel, thinking deeply. He'd been intrigued by those trilliant cut gems, though he thought a blue stone would fit her eyes more than—

"Fine," Trouble grumbled. "So, what...you gonna do this tonight?"

"Trouble," Grub said seriously, "I am high on magic. What do _you_ think?"

Trouble thought about this and jerked a thumb towards the trunk of his car. "Want me to come up to the door with my first aid kit?"

"Um..." Grub scowled. "Yes."

Chuckling, Trouble took the last turn onto Vinyáya's street, parking before the house and dashing to the back of his car to get the kit. Grub fidget on the sidewalk the entire extra ten seconds, hissing at his brother to hurry. They jogged, magic-mad, to the front door, where Grub dropped his keys and thumped his head against the wood as he bent over to retrieve them. When he finally managed to get the keys in and turned, he flung open the door, practically crowning his lover's name.

No one answered.

"Vin...Vinyaya?" Grub repeated, stepping inside.

Trouble's ears began to tingle as his brother walked down the hall, peeking into every door and calling to his lover and daughter. Turning his head just a bit to the side, he looked at the few hooks on the wall where guest coats and keys were kept.

Grub came back down the hall at double speed, his eyes wide. He began to turn towards the living room and its exit to the back yard and bathing pond, but was halted by his brother's voice.

"Hey. Do you have your car keys?"

Grub froze in his tracks. Slowly, he patted his pants pockets, head shaking. "I left them in case there was an...an..." His Adam's apple bobbed. "An..."

A robotic tune came from Grub's hip, and he looked down at it, mouth open. Shoving his hand into the pocket, he pulled out a cell phone, flipping it open. Despite his mouth being still wide open, he couldn't say an actual word, instead squeaking, but the person on the other line seemed to understand and began talking rapidly.

The words were too fast and jumbled by Grub's ear for Trouble to hear, but as his brother's legs gave out, sending the man to his knees, cracking them on the faux-wood flooring yet not bringing out any sound of pain, Trouble understood.

* * *

**Preview: "****You've built a love, but that love falls apart./ Your little piece of heaven turns too dark."**

* * *

**-puts on crash helmet and braces self- BRING IT!**

* * *

**Okay. I'm trying to break 1000 reviews, but there's only five chapters left. So. Incentive? Why, yes. "What is it?" I hear you ask.  
**

**SMUT.**

**Seriously, what else do I write that gets you guys going?**

**The deal: Once there are 1,000 reviews _and_ I have finished IAE (the last two chapters are written and I'm on a bit of a streak, so it wont be too long), I will post lovely, lovely smut. Three lovely smuts, in fact. These shall be:**

**1) Grub/Vinyaya. The continuation of chapter 51, which includes something "awesome," in Grub's words.**

**2) Lili/Trouble. A sort of alternate-universe thing from this chapter, where she answers Trouble with "I want _you."_**

**3) Holly/Artemis. Doing..._the forbidden._ You know...that ultimate male fantasy...the thing that our mothers told us to _never_ do? Yeeeeeeeeah.**

**So...go on...review!  
**


	54. You Wonder if This Fight is Worthwhile

**Note: Not sure when babies stop being taken to the NICU when they get sick, but let's assume that fairies take a few months longer, given how they age and all. K?**

* * *

**Behind-the-scenes! (Yeah, yeah, again.)**

"Okay, staff, thank you for taking the time to come to this meeting." Kit walked into the living room, in which the large majority of the cast was lounging, sipping at drinks and gossiping to one another. Their voices had died down on her entrance, and so the authoress soon diverted her attention to a clip board, tapping it with a pen. "Now, most of you have heard that I am doing another review drive, with the reward to readers being smut. As per usual." Rolling her eyes, she shrugged at the perversions of her followers.

Most of the cast had perked up at the word "smut" and checked their scripts from the chapter previous. Artemis and Holly looked smug, Grub began squirming and bounding in his seat, and Trouble jumped to his feet, pumping his arm and turning to the men to demand fist bumps, while Lili hid her face behind her script until she could compose herself properly without giving anything away to the readers, one way or another.

"_Any_ways, there seems to be some confusion among readers. _I_ thought it was fairly obvious, but somehow people don't get what I mean by the 'ultimate male fantasy,' as regards Holly and Artemis's scene." Midway through the sentence, she made air quotes with her fingers, nearly dropping the clipboard in the process.

"Dude," Vein broke in, eyes widening, "I never thought you'd convince Holly to wear a strap-on." The second the words were out, he seemed to begin choking, clutching a hand over his mouth.

Very...very slowly, the cast turned to stare at Vein.

The major squeaked at the author. "Wh...why did you_ make_ me say that?"

Kit chuckled. "Thought it was funny as shit. Now! I can _not_ be the only one to come to this conclusion about men and sex. So, I'm gonna have to ask all the guys what their ultimate fantasy is."

The guys paled and began to pull their legs up towards their bodies and wrap their arms about themselves, trying to be less conspicuous and to guard the most important bits.

"Aaaaaaaaand, just for shits and giggles, girls, you get to join in."

The female cast members groaned and shot back some protests, but at least the men perked up.

"Okay, people, this behind-the-scenes bit is running long, so let's make this quick." Gesturing with her pen, Kit barked out, "Trouble."

"Sexy secretary," he responded.

Lety turned to bat her eyelashes. "Really now, Commander?"

Trouble's eyes went wide and he edged away from Lety, only stopping when he was pressed up against his brother.

"Okay," Kit said, taking notes. "Grub."

"Girl on top."

The cast looked at Vinyáya.

She shrugged. "I work hard all day, I am _not_ putting out that kind of effort."

"I swear, sometimes I wonder if you do love him," Kit muttered, scribbling. "Foaly."

"Virtual reality!" He stamped his hooves, putting deep indents in the carpet. "I've been setting up this environment and I just need to get the right interactions between it and the attach—"

"_Moving on!_" Kit yelped, not having the budget for mind bleach this month. "Chix!"

"Stewardesses. Coming to dock, one after another. By the time I'm bored of one, awwww, time to take the flight back to Haven." He waved, pouting. "Bye-bye. And helloooooo to the next flight."

"Charming, really. Lili."

"Sexy secretary," she chirruped.

The cast snapped their heads to look at Trouble. Then, a second later, to Holly, who seemed just as horrified as Trouble seemed overjoyed. Then, finally, to the author.

She scribbled furiously. "Yeah, yeah, making a note, no guarantee on how I'll play that. Next: Duke."

He chuckled. "Pixies."

Kit stopped writing for a moment, glancing up. "That's a preference of partner, not a..." She looked at his lower, equine half. Brows rising, she returned to her notebook. "I stand corrected. Holly."

Holly thought for a moment, chewing at her cheek. Finally, slowly, she ventured, "Remember in _Fowl Shorts_, when Artemis was doing the welding on his car?"

"Uh...yeah?"

"And the...blue jeans?"

Artemis choked at the words.

"Uh huh," Kit confirmed, smile growing.

"And the...sparks and...sweat and..."

Kit flipped her pen to point at the fairy, clicking her tongue. "Gotcha. Artemis, response?"

Recovering his cool facade quickly, Artemis shrugged, leaning back and putting his feet up on the coffee table. "Simple enough. I want a large room attached to my house. Perhaps twice the size of my bedroom back at the manor. Inside shall be a variety of water features, plants, exotic birds, artwork, rugs, embroidered pillows, and the like. Kept inside shall be no less than two dozen women of various physical attributes. Hair color and style, eye color, height, breast size, though I must admit to having a certain range of weights I find acceptable." He flipped his hand as if that counted as an apology. "Each of the fairy species should be represented...except dwarves." He looked to Mulch. "No offense, but..."

Mulch shrugged, glad he'd at least been mentioned after months of not appearing anywhere. "Hey, I'm not into anything but other dwarves, so go right on ahead, pervert."

Artemis's brows twitched, but he brushed it off quickly, returning attention to the authoress. "All of the women must be bisexual, double-jointed, and trained in the art of _sensual_ massage." He smiled, eyes going far off and misty. "I shall also require a lifetime supply of edible massage oil."

Holly stared at her lover, mouth open. The rest of the staff was doing little better. Trouble and Vein appeared oddly respectful.

Shaking himself out of his fantasy, Artemis looked at the author, shrugging. "If that is impossible, I want Holly as a member of identical triplets. I will...still require the oil."

Kit's jaw worked a bit before she managed, "Um...Artemis, we're just discussing fantasies. Not...ordering lunch."

"Oh?" Artemis frowned. "I thought_ I _was the one to be partaking in the ultimate fantasy."

Sighing and poking the pen at her forehead, as if looking for the reset button on her brain, Kit muttered, "Vinyáya?"

The Wing Commander shrugged. "Anal, I guess."

Grub fell out of his chair with a little cry.

"_Thank you_," Kit cheered, putting a big happy face next to Vinyáya's name. "Finally! Right answer! Granted, you're a _woman_, but whatever! Got it people? _Ultimate male fantasy: anal sex! Shesh!"_ Turning, she walked back into the office, ranting the entire way.

Through the crowd of fairies, Grub crawled until he lay on the floor at Vinyáya's feet, propping his torso up just enough to look at her over the seat of the couch. "R...really?" His eyes shone with tears.

Rolling her eyes, Vinyáya patted Grub's head. "Maybe, one day. If you're a very good boy."

He whined happily, nuzzling into the hand.

* * *

**Song: "Listen to Your Heart" by Roxette (Yes, Roxette. I hate the new version. It lacks in epic.)**

* * *

**Chapter 54: You Wonder if This Fight is Worthwhile**

Trouble Kelp was fitter than his younger brother, but there was no way he was keeping up with Grub once they arrived at Haven Hospital. Grub didn't even wait for the car to completely stop in a parking space, vaulting from his unbuckled passenger seat and barely keeping his footing as he fought to compensate for momentum. Trouble followed at top speed once the car was (illegally) parked, but the extra few seconds and his ignorance of the hospital's layout kept him back just long enough such that, when he arrived at the NICU, Grub was facing a demon in a set of blue scrubs, already taking a deep, preparatory breath.

"_What do you mean, I can't see them?_"

Trouble had never seen a full grown buck demon cower before his brother, and he hoped that the sight of the dark-red male's horned ears flattening down and his eyes averting was a sign that this was all a dream.

"It's standard procedure," the demon eventually rumbled back. "In case—"

_"STANDARD PROCEDURE?_" Grub interrupted. "That is my _family_ in there!"

"In case," the demon continued, his red eyes narrowing in a moment of unconquered panic, "the illness is communicable. Your wife healed your daughter and used up all of her magic, so she was flagged for a few tests, including Spelltropy."

Trouble wondered how often his brother and the Wing Commander had to deal with that sort of mistake In their titles.

"How long will it take? I want to see them. _Where is your manager?_"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down, or—"

"NO!" Grub snarled, stepping forward until his nose touched the demon's, which was only possible because of the elf's height and the demon's continued cowering. "You. Will. _Answer_ me!"

"S-sir, if you continue causing a scene, I'll have to call security."

"Hah!" Grub bared all his teeth in a mad grin, eyes seeming just as crimson as the orderly. "Just. Try." He pointed down the hallway at the demon's back. "That woman in there is Wing Commander and Councilwoman Arnica Vinyáya, my _mate_." His hand swiveled back to gesture at Trouble with his thumb. "That is Recon and Retrieval Commander Kelp, my _brother_. And your security? New officers provided by LEP Traffic. I write their evaluations and approve their checks. So, please, try me. I'd _love_ to see what my subordinates do."

The demon looked at Trouble, shocked and seeming to finally process the pair before him. Obviously, he was not quite up to date with who his city leaders were, but it was hard to be completely ignorant of the more prominent Haven figures, at least by name.

"Or," Grub said, evenly, as if he were the soul of reason, "you can do your gods-damned job...and answer my questions."

"I...um..."

Grub's cheek began to twitch.

"Can I...go get my supervisor?"

"No," Grub drawled. "We will go _with_ you."

"But—"

Grub grabbed the demon's shoulder and twisted him around to face the hallway leading to the main NICU units, pushing the muscled back so the buck was forced to step forward. After another half-second of hesitation, the demon finally began walking, Grub following so close that they would have collided if the leader ever slowed down. With the father at his back, however, the orderly never so much as hesitated at an intersection of halls.

They went through a few doors until, suddenly, the mint green walls shifted to a sterile white. The rooms in this area where filled with machinery, though most of it was off, with the rooms empty. One other family—a female demon and two imps—sat in a room and watched the monitors that seemed far larger than the clear plastic incubator in the center of the room. Trouble might have laughed at the black humor of the incubator actually containing an egg, but he could find little funny about the mother demon's expression and the large crack in the egg, into which wires had been inserted to monitor the under-developed imp within.

Then they were through a last, single door, which must have been soundproof, as Trouble only heard a series of rhythmic beeps and whirrs once the door cracked.

Here, again, there were machines and an incubator, and Trouble's eyes were immediately captured by what seemed like such a tiny figure in the sealed plastic bassinet. Most of the previous occupants of that incubator must have been so much smaller—preemies—but something about knowing that this little one was of his blood made everything in the world around her look large and threatening, including the stickers on her chest and arms, which connected wirelessly to the monitors, and especially the needle fed into her hand. Her...so tiny hand...

"Grub."

The voice interrupted Trouble's thoughts, making him look up and at the chair next to the incubator, where Vinyáya had been seated. Her eyes were now locked on the younger Kelp. Her hands, which had been folded on her lap, unfolded and gripped the arm rests, the tension expanding to her entire body, until it seemed like a small nudge would break her.

"Gods, Vinyáya, what—" Grub had begun to lunge forward, arms stretched out towards his mate, but she leaned away from him just as the third occupant of the room, who had so far been quietly observing the mother and daughter, darted in front of the father, arms and wings held wide to amplify his blockage.

"Sir!" The sprite barked, looking up at Grub with such intensity that it seemed like their height differences might be evened out by sheer gall. "This is a quarantined room. Why are you even _in_ here?" He tilted his head to send a glare at his demon orderly, who looked at the floor, shuffling his clawed feet.

"I'm in here because your little _lackey_ wouldn't tell me what is going on with my family!"

The demon held up his hands, backing into the door, which finally clicked closed under his pressure. "I told him everything I knew, Jan!"

The sprite rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his slightly lumpy bald head, wings finally easing down, though slowly. "Well, no _wonder _he had to come in here, then."

The demon opened his mouth to protest, but apparently thought better of it, trying to make himself inconspicuous.

Under Grub's continued glaring, the sprite doctor brought his arms in, crossing them over his chest, pressing the data tablet against his white smock. His wings settled at a 45 degree angle from his body, ready to spread again if needed. Showing supreme confidence, as compared to his underling, he looked into Grub's eyes and began talking, voice raised just enough so the adult elves could all hear, but quiet enough so the baby did not stir.

"We admitted your daughter at 1000 hours after your mate used up all her magic reducing a high fever. She was still showing a temperature of 38.5 Celsius on arrival, but we have no idea what her max temperature was before the healing. We've since lowered her temperature to 37.7 degrees; well within the safe range. Since the Councilwoman used all of her magic on the healing, we have to put both her and her daughter in quarantine until we get the lab tests back, to make sure they do not have a communicable disease."

"Like Spelltropy," Grub whispered.

"Highly unlikely," the doctor responded quickly, eyes darting to the demon, clearly informing him that bad things were in his future for letting such an idea slip into the father's mind. "It is procedure, yes, but that is because the Council passed a law requiring a Spelltropy test in any case where someone uses up all their magic on a healing."

Behind him, Vinyáya nodded, as if remembering that session of the Council, but she said nothing about her situation.

"Since your daughter has no magic, the only way she could have contracted Spelltropy is if someone who healed her was a carrier." The doctor studied Grub carefully. "I assume you have healed her at some time in the past three months?"

"She...got an inoculation series last week. I gave her a few minor healings to help with that."

The doctor nodded, but looked grave. "Then I am required to test you and put you in isolation as well."

"Yeah," Grub responded, looking to his mate and nodding. "Sure. Fine."

"I'm...afraid I can not let you stay in this room," the doctor added.

Now Grub snapped his head back, eyes sharp again. "Oh, no, no way I'm going to—"

The doctor's wings spanned back to full breadth, asserting authority. "If you do not cooperate, sir, I am authorized to sedate you for as long as it takes to get those results. And when patients piss me off, the lab technicians tend to decide it's break time. So, if you want this to be fast, you will follow my orders and leave this room _now, _on your own, or I'll have to call someone to_ carry _you out."

Unaffected, Grub took his second deep breath since arriving in the hospital, eyes burning in the bright overhead lights.

"Grub," came Vinyáya's voice once more.

Immediately, he froze, his rage kept carefully bottled up for a few precious moments while he listened to his mate.

"Do what he says," she said, monotone. When he didn't immediately subside, she added, "Please..." Her air seemed used up midway through the word, making her voice little more than a squeak.

Eventually, and obviously after an intense internal debate, Grub closed his eyes and nodded, taking a step back from the doctor. "Whatever. Just...can we do this fast? And put a rush on the test?"

"Of course," the sprite returned, wings finally folding completely against his back. He came forward, placing a hand on Grub's shoulder and squeezing. He looked at the orderly, who flinched under his supervisor's gaze, well knowing that he would be getting a lecture when all the patients were settled. "Once we get a confirmation that it's not Spelltropy, get the Councilwoman on an emergency medical shuttle to complete the Ritual. She should have just enough time before dawn." While the demon nodded enthusiastically, the sprite doctor leaned around Grub, opening the door and pushing the father through.

Trouble came through last, leaving just the two patients and the demon. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Vinyáya was watching them go. In fact, her eyes were stuck on Grub, remaining on edge of the window where he finally disappeared while walking to his own quarantine room.

Trouble took a last glance at Yarrow before he himself went past the window, and then all he could do was look forward at his brother's back, mind trying to think through everything that had just happened. He couldn't quite believe it. Vinyáya, strong, proud Vinyáya had been looking at _his_ brother like he would fix everything.

She had never looked away from Grub. Not for anything.

* * *

"I've never seen an LEP officer that was so afraid of a needle," the sprite—Doctor Itor—muttered as he sealed up Grub's blood sample and handed it off to a nurse, who power-walked out of the exam room, leaving the pair alone. Trouble, after confirming that he hadn't used any magic on either parent or Yarrow in several months, had been put into a waiting room. Spelltropy could only be transferred by the use of magic, so the quarantine rooms were not hermetically sealed, but non-medical personnel still couldn't be kept in physical proximity to anyone waiting on test results. During the Spelltropy plague, it wasn't uncommon for a carrier to become panicked and attack someone in the hopes that they could siphon off a few sparks from the natural healing that would result, thus spreading the disease.

"It was a big needle," Grub muttered, rubbing his arm and hitting the small wound with a bit of magic.

"Oh, yes, massive." Ignoring his newest patient's glare, the doctor grabbed the swivel chair from a corner, wheeling it in front of Grub's place on the exam table and turning it around so he could sit backward, arms resting on the back of the chair. Settling in, his wings unfolded, going somewhat limp, with the tips trailing on the floor.

Grub's nails dug into the padded table, ripping the paper sheet that had been unrolled to cover the plastic. "What...what is it?"

The doctor frowned, resting his chin on his folded arms. Flexing his wings a fraction, he used them to tilt the chair back and forth as he gathered his thoughts. "We should discuss...your mate's behavior this evening."

"I...why?" Grub flexed his fists further, completely destroying the paper cover. "Is...is she all right?"

The doctor thought again, breathing deeply through his nose. "I...she is displaying some...troubling behaviors, sir."

"Troubling," Grub repeated. He wondered if the doctor was aware of the strange word choice. "Like...what?"

"She has been..very...very...quiet." Sitting straighter, but still using his arms to support himself on the chair, he looked Grub in the eye. "When a mother brings her child into the ICU, we expect a lot more...yelling. A lot more questions. When a baby is involved, we pretty much count on someone threatening to either get us fired or to kill us. Often both. Sometimes in an illogical order."

Grub narrowed his eyes, not appreciating the humor. "She has a very high-stress job. And she doesn't panic there. Couldn't it just be...sort of the same, to her? She knows worrying won't accomplish anything."

"...Maybe."

"And...maybe not," Grub supplied after a long pause.

Sighing and rubbing his eyes, the sprite nodded.

"So...you think...you think she _made _my daughter sick?"

The sprite's wings tensed and popped out to half-extension. He ceased rubbing his face, hand slamming onto the back of the chair. "No. No!"

"But you were saying—"

"I apologize, I should have continued. No, she didn't make her sick, as far as I can tell. And I'll be honest, I thought for a few minutes that there might be something there. But the symptoms your daughter is showing correspond to one of the flus she was just inoculated for. The incubation period fits perfectly."

"So...it's...not Spelltropy?" Grub repeated, that terrifying idea still in his mind, despite reassurances.

The doctor nodded. "In my opinion, not a chance."

"And...Vinyáya didn't...do anything to cause this?"

"Ye...eeeees..." The doctor hesitated half way, making Grub tense up again. "But...that doesn't mean she doesn't..._think_ she's at fault somehow."

"Why would she think...oh." Grub bit his lower lip, ears flattening against his head.

Jan nodded. "How has she been since the birth? Over-sleeping? Not eating? Irritable? Has she cut off social contact?"

"I...no, none of that," Grub answered, running a hand through his hair. "In fact, we...we've...got back together since the birth."

The doctor frowned at this. "Then...how is her sex drive?"

Grub coughed, face reddening. "Um...normal, I'd say."

"And how is she with the baby?"

"She...I..." Grub looked at his hands, which began to wind together. "She...um...I take care of most of that." His eyes darted up, daring to meet the doctor's, but just for a split second. "She's...busy."

"So...she doesn't interact with the baby?"

After a pause, Grub shook his head. "Nursing is about it. When she's not busy with work."

When Grub gave no further examples, Itor nodded. "I suspected as much." He began to flip through his data tablet until he had brought up Vinyáya's records. "I'm going to suggest she speak with a doctor who is knowledgeable on this subject, but...well, your mate is a strong-willed woman. I'm not sure if she will agree. Which is why...I wanted to speak with you now. I think you may need to convince her."

"I'm...not sure what you expect me to do that could change her mind," Grub murmured. "If she won't listen to a doctor, I'm...not really sure she'd listen to me."

"Mr. Kelp...I..." Itor paused, licking his lips. Hesitantly, he pushed with his wings, scooting his chair forward an extra inch or two, and extended his hand until it could rest on the elf's shoulder.

Grub turned his head to look at the hand, and then looked to the doctor, resisting the urge to shrug away from the unfamiliar touch.

"I've only been treating the Councilwoman for a few hours," Itor admitted, looking thoughtful. "But...I saw her face when you came into the room. If she will listen to _anyone_...it's you."

Grub laughed and glanced away, finally shifting his shoulders to free them from the sprite. He fidgeted for some time under the doctor's continued scrutiny. Ran a hand through his hair. Rubbed the back of his neck. Played with the zipper on his jacket. Finally, his hands strayed into the thick coat, rooting about in a pocket. When he grabbed what was waiting inside, he hesitated for some time, as if fighting with himself over an impulse.

Whether the impulse won or lost, Grub finally removed his empty hand from the pocket. He slid off the exam table, doing his best to stand tall, and looked sidelong at the doctor. He nodded, turning away so he could look at the wall, burying both hands in his hair. He said no more, lost in thought.

Itor did not stay for much longer, nor did he tell Grub that he was leaving, letting the click of the door make the announcement for him.

* * *

It didn't take long for Grub to get cleared by the lab, and, seconds after the announcement, he was back in Yarrow's room, sitting in the chair that Vinyáya had vacated not too long before, after mother and daughter were also cleared and she made her run to the surface. The demon orderly came back to the room, and Grub seemed to forgive the new doctor all things when he unlocked the incubator and reunited father and daughter, watching carefully as Grub pressed a hand to her chest and pushed in a few sparks of magic. After the flow ceased, Yarrow's temperature was taken once more, coming up normal, and another blood sample was collected to analyze the progress of virus and antibodies.

Trouble stayed for a few hours. At one point, he asked if Hibiscus should be called, but Grub had gaped at his elder brother, so the Commander decided that maybe leaving her in the dark for a few days would be fine. At least he would give them until the doctor said Yarrow could go home. Eventually, Trouble had to leave himself, anticipating that he'd be getting little to no help the following night at work, as Holly would doubtless be called upon to take up Vinyáya's duties for the evening. So, after asking for the hundredth time if there was anything he could do, Trouble hugged his brother hard and left.

Grub wasn't allowed to hold Yarrow the entire night, as she was still attached to several monitors, which would also pick up his own vitals. So, instead, he fretted over the now-uncovered incubator, adjusting the blankets every few minutes and glaring any time a nurse came in to perform whatever he deemed a "parental" duty, which he might have even extended to the third and final blood test, if he'd been able to handle the IV without fainting.

Sometime after dawn topside, when he was just getting to the point where he could fall asleep in the room's monstrosity called a "chair," he heard a click and a creak. His drooping eyes snapped open, focusing on the door, and he was halfway out of his seat to face the new intruder when he recognized Vinyáya, hair puffed by static after her trip to a windy topside Ritual spot.

She carefully closed the door behind her, the mechanisms barely making a sound, eyes again locked on Grub. She worried her bottom lip for a few moments before speaking. "Is...is everything okay?"

Grub opened his mouth and barely caught himself before he spoke too quickly. Too truthfully. "She hasn't had a temperature in a few hours. The blood-work is just about clean. She'll be weak for a few days, maybe."

"Oh...good." Vinyáya looked at the floor, nodding.

She wasn't crying, but Vinyáya was rarely so silent, and Grub couldn't stand seeing her like this. He got up from the chair, taking the few steps to the woman, whom he wrapped up in his arms, putting a hand gently to the back of her head so he could guide it into the crook of his neck. He was glad that the hospital had dimmed the lights for the People's sleep cycle and left the corridors mostly empty, giving them a few minutes alone.

Vinyáya didn't respond to the embrace immediately, but she did not stiffen, as if it were an invasion. Finally, she put her arms about Grub's waist, hooking her a finger into the back belt loop of his slacks. It wasn't a tight hold, but it would still be difficult to escape.

Gently, Grub slid a hand up the back of her shirt, stopping after only a few inches, brushing his fingertips on her spine. She never asked for physical contact in and of itself, but he'd come to know how it soothed her, just so long as he didn't imply that she needed the touch to get by. She was a proud woman. She never willingly sought out help.

"You did fine, Vinyáya," Grub murmured.

She didn't respond, except with a slight tightening of her arm muscles.

"The doctor said the fever probably came on quickly. And it could have gone way higher than they ever tested. You probably caught it early." He pressed his cheek to the side of her head, hoping the gentle praise wouldn't seem too obvious and be rejected. "You did everything right."

Still, Vinyáya did not respond. But for the beeps of Yarrow's monitors, reduced to the lowest volume after she was declared out of danger, the room would be totally silent. He couldn't help but think, however, that the tension in the room would be felt by the infant, and so he began to gently stroke Vinyáya's hair, continuing his soothing repetition. "You did fine."

"Stop it," Vinyáya whispered suddenly, twisting until her head was free, letting him see that her eyes were dry and her face as flat and stony as any of the countless times he had seen her handle a crisis in the Plaza.

"What?" Grub whispered back, trying to maintain the room's sanctity. Yarrow was sleeping deeply as she recovered from her illness, but a loud enough noise could still wake her.

Vinyáya struggled again and, though Grub briefly tightened his grip, there was no holding the woman once she had made the decision to free herself. "Stop _saying_ that." She pushed hard against her lover's chest, the shock of it making him step back, even if her movements hadn't been violent enough to move him.

He gaped at her, rubbing at his chest briefly. "I'm just trying to reassure you, Vinyáya."

She shook her head, hair flying. "No! What...why would you _do _that?"

Keeping his voice low, pressing his hands towards the floor in the hopes that she would recall their location and be a bit more quiet, Grub responded, "I just...the doctors said you seemed really worried about her, and—"

"I wasn't worried about _her!_ I was worried about _you!_" She was practically screaming now, and there wasn't so much of a glance past Grub to the plastic incubator or the monitors lining the walls. "Don't you _get it? _I never..._never_ worried about her. I worried about...about what _you_ would do! What you would think when she got sick while I was watching her."

"What do—"

"I thought you'd blame _me_." Vinyáya's fist made a hard impact into her own chest, which made Grub cringe, sure such a shot would have pushed all the breath from his lungs. She just kept going, speaking fast, but never going quite shrill, though it was as if she were only a missed breath or tumbling thought away from doing so. "I thought, if something happened...if she didn't make it..."

He didn't want her to hit herself again. Or to keep saying what she was saying. Jumping forward, stretching out his hands, Grub grabbed at her wrists, managing a tenuous grip, pulling himself closer until they were just inches apart again. From here, he could see that her eyes had gone large and somehow dimmed, as if scratched, damaged beyond repair. Like one of the undead creatures she spent so much time fighting her virtual battles against. "Shhhh," he urged, squeezing her wrists tighter and pushing back, guiding her towards the door, trying to figure out how he could grab the handle without giving her enough leeway to escape. "She's fine, Vinyáya." He'd said it too many times, he knew, but what else could he _say_ to all this?

"No!" She jerked her arms, almost breaking his grip, and then leaning in so their faces almost touched, her hot breath so out of place after what should have been a rejuvenating trip to the surface. "Don't you _get it!_ I don't _care_ if she's fine or not, Grub! All I care about, all I could think about, is what you would do if she died! Because you would think it was my fault—"

"I _told_ you—"

"And you'd _leave_. She'd die and you'd leave and I _love_ you, Grub, I _let _myself love you and I...I..." She closed her eyes, tight, lines forming at the corners, two more deep crevices emerging between her brows. "I don't love _her._ I...I don't feel anything for her. Since the moment I found out I was pregnant, I told myself 'I don't want this. I don't want a baby.' And she came. And I _still don't want her._ I never _wanted_ any of this! I was _fine_ just working and picking up some guy when I needed it, and then you _asshole._" She shook her arms again, but this time she was far weaker. "You...asshole...I don't care, Grub. She's my daughter, and I _don't care_."

Her eyes opened once more, looking up to his, now finally shining with moisture, and quite obviously searching. Whatever she looked for, she was unlikely to find it, as Grub had to turn his head away, his own eyes shutting just as his entire face seemed to tense. The pressure of his jaw made his teeth ache, and it was suddenly almost impossible to breath. Not in the normal manner for him, where he gasped and fought for air as he hyperventilated, but more as if he just...simply didn't want to keep breathing.

"Well...?" She spoke softly. Tugging her arms, she tried to turn him back to her, but she would have to use more of her considerable strength to do so. "What now, huh? Tell me...tell me that's _fine_, too. Because, d'arvit, you're always okay with _everything_."

"It's _not_, Vinyáya," he rasped, and the sudden step she took away from him forced his grip to tighten and his eyes to open as he moved along with, staggering for a moment, only held up by his grip on her.

Vinyáya stopped when her back was against the door and he was nearly pressed against her, certain that, any moment, she would instinctively strike out and free herself from capture.

"It's not _fine_," he whispered, his breath moving her hair away from her eyes, "but it...it _happens_. You had a _baby; _your hormones are all screwed up. You never _told_ anyone, so you haven't had a chance to get treatment and—"

"_Treatment_? I _can't_. I _won't_. What would I do, dammit? Spend my entire life hopped up on pills that _force_ me to feel something? Talk to someone for an hour every week about how I don't give a shit about my child? What are they going to say, Grub? What could they say to get me to feel something? Because I have_ tried_, gods, I have_ tried! A_nd it just. Doesn't. _Work_."

"I...well..."

"Just tell me it's fine with you, Grub," Vinyáya choked, holding perfectly still. "Please. I can't do all that. Just tell me it's okay that I don't love my baby."

He winced, and didn't even hesitate to answer, "I _can't_." He wanted to shift their bodies, and hoped he could do so subtly, so he could stand directly between mother and child, for at least a few moments wondering if he would have to protect the infant elf from the woman before him, who was now, finally, loosing her careful control, one or two small tears on the verge of escaping from the surface tension about her lower lids. "I can't tell you that. You..._we_ need to try something. Something to help you."

"Then _what_?" Vinyáya snapped. "What is your _grand_ idea? Because, gods know, you've read _every_ book. You know more about pregnancy than a fucking obstetrician! What do I have to do to _force_ myself to feel something I don't _want_ to feel!"

He could barely get out words at an audible level, and perhaps they would have been entirely lost if she had not been staring so frantically at him, seeing his lips move. "There's doctors...and I don't...just... It's just...maybe if..."

Vinyáya shook her arms, making him wince fearfully. "What! _What_, Grub?"

"Maybe...maybe you _can't_ love her just because she's your daughter. Because you never wanted one." He needed a few seconds. Long enough to get his words together once more. To breath. To summon the courage and look into Vinyáya's eyes, unwavering, understanding, and still hopeful after all this. He managed it all, even if he could only continue in another whisper. "But...could you maybe love her...because she's _ours?"_

"Be..." Vinyáya let her mouth hang open, eyes darting to read Grub's face, and then drifting away. They finally rested on her wrists and her hands, the knuckles gone white from her two tight fists. "She..." Her body jolted with what seemed to be a laugh, but only once, any further cut off by her clenching jaw. "Do...do you think that is going to...to _fix_ everything?"

Grub paused. Then shook his head. "No...of course not. But...does it help...at least a little?"

He expected her to shout and push him away, but she just tilted her head down, long hair drifting until her face was hidden. Her body shook minutely from time to time. It went tense and then relaxed, but Grub was filled with such a sense of repressed energy that he was sure it wasn't a natural reaction, but forced and tenuous.

He waited.

When something cool splashed against his hand, he jumped a little.

He body began to shake again, shoulders rising and falling. "You..." She sniffed and another drop hit Grub's skin. "You...jerk..."

Biting his lip, prepared for the worst, Grub let Vinyáya's wrists go so he could once more wrap his arms about her, no longer just resting his hands on her body, but gripping at her clothes and skin, keeping her as tight to him as he could. He was sure he was even causing a little bit of pain, but Vinyáya just pressed back harder, deeper, taking what seemed like forever to go from this state of enormous tension to something that was exhausted and empty, everything leaving her via very small, very rare releases, which she hid by being so close to her mate, waiting for it all to stop.

* * *

It didn't fix everything. Grub certainly knew it wouldn't. Vinyáya had _hoped_ that something the man said could magically change her emotions to the correct state, but she knew, on a logical level, it was unlikely that a few words could overcome the last few months of unease and imbalance. What he'd said...that Yarrow was _their_ daughter...it did _something_, but, as Vinyáya watched Grub hold the infant after the Wing Commander fed her, she knew that it hadn't done _everything._ There was just...a look in Grub's eyes as he watched his daughter, who was still so tired from the sickness and sinking back into a deep sleep. It was a look she knew she lacked entirely, and she had no idea how to fake it. And she knew she shouldn't try.

So Grub managed what had seemed impossible only a few hours before: he got Vinyáya to agree to talk to someone about postpartum depression (though he could not convince her to give it that title). And, as they had both decided that their former family doctor, Ginko, was an ass of the largest proportions, he achieved yet another goal: introducing Vinyáya to the reproductive specialist he preferred: Dr. Nesset.

When Nesset opened her private practice door and gave Grub such a glare that he jogged several steps back, turning his body so he could protect Yarrow, Vinyáya decided that she really liked his choice of physician.

Nesset ushered her newest patient inside and slammed the door closed in Grub's face, after which the pixie seemed to become a lot more...jovial. Though that might have also been because she got to stick a needle in the arm of one of Haven's top officials and not get put on a terrorist watch list. She ran the blood sample and marked down one or two small peculiarities, but nothing that made her scribble away on her data pad. Then she began to quiz Vinyáya on her health over the past year, as well as her personal life, showing some interest when she found that the two parents had actually furthered their relationship status since the birth. Then she asked questions that specifically focused on Vinyáya and Yarrow, coming to perhaps the most awkward one before Vinyáya had proper time to prepare herself: "How many hours a day would you say you interact with your daughter?"

Vinyáya coughed, looking at the ceiling. "I...wouldn't...put the answer in _hours,_ per say..."

Nesset had frowned at this and made a note on her tablet, but didn't pause unduly before moving onto the next question. And the next and next. A full hour had passed, and more, when Nesset nodded to herself and rested the tablet on her lap, hands folded over the screen as she looked up at Vinyáya, mouth opening to say something.

Before she could, Vinyáya shot out with, "I'm not going on happy pills."

Though she said it so forcefully that most conversational partners would have leaned back, Nesset only tilted her head, observing Vinyáya for a few extra seconds before nodding. "Very well. Then I will have to give you some homework."

For a moment, Vinyáya was going to sneer and ask if she would be assigned a final as well, but she merely grunted, giving over her public cell number (as opposed to her super-secret, government ops, your-mission-if-you-choose-to-accept-it number) when prompted, though she was given no further explanation. Then Yarrow's release forms were signed and the small family made their way home in silence.

Vinyáya wasn't really sure what to do. She knew that she should make some further effort as a parent, but..._what?_ And also _how_, when Grub held Yarrow so close, right through another few hours of sleep, only putting her down in the crib when she awoke and seemed playful, showing off bright lights and interesting noises of the play panel, hypnotizing the infant and sending her into occasional paroxysms of laughter. Seeing no place in the moment, Vinyáya decided to head back to the office and complete some of her now _very_ overdue paperwork.

She wasn't in for very long before her phone began to buzz. Looking at the screen and finding it was Nesset, she almost hit ignore. Only a gritting of her teeth and an intense inner battle between desire and responsibility convinced her to flip the phone open and say, in that don't-fuck-with-me tone of all overburdened women, "Yes, Doctor?"

"Your first assignment," Nesset said evenly, and there was a shuffling and clicking in the background which told Vinyáya that _someone_ was getting her paperwork done, at least.

The Councilwoman sighed. "I really don't have time for—"

"Homework or happy-pills, woman," Nesset snapped, and the brusqueness towards a Haven official made Vinyáya's jaw drop. "I thought so. Go let her hold your finger for five minutes."

"Let her—" Vinyáya began, confused.

"_Now_," Nesset snapped.

Vinyáya growled into the phone, contemplating further protest, and finally snapped it closed, her grip nearly breaking the device as she stormed down the hall.

As a rather irritated mama entered the nursery, Grub stopped his cooing and poking at the brightly-colored plastic, eyes widening. There was the slightest shift in his posture as he unconsciously put himself between door and crib, before he said, "What is it?"

Vinyáya could swear her ears were itching. "I have been told...to..." She tried to say it with dignity, but, as the words began coming out, she decided there was no way to describe her "homework" in a manner that wouldn't sound batshit. Instead, she strode into the room, right up to the crib, and leaned over the edge, thrusting her hand down, stopping with her index finger held before Yarrow's chest.

Yarrow's eyes went _huge_ at the sudden intrusion, crossing for a few seconds as she tried to focus properly. When she had managed to get everything aligned visually, she began to..._twitch_. Or _writhe_ or _something_. Her arms came up, and went side to side, up and down, seemingly at random, and Vinyáya felt a brief flash of panic as she thought that the fever might have returned at double force without Grub's noticing, as this looked quite a lot like a seizure.

Then one of Yarrow's hands smacked into Vinyáya's, returning with a bit more coordination, making a good half-dozen ever-closer sweeps until, miraculously, she caught hold of her mother's finger.

And shoved it into her mouth.

Vinyáya's skin crawled as her knuckle was gummed, and she pulled her hand back.

Gurgling and almost growling, Yarrow tried to tug back. Of course, being a baby, she didn't have the muscle to overcome any adult, much less a secret agent, and so the finger was freed from her mouth, though still remaining in hand.

Vinyáya wanted to pull away entirely, but she stopped before Yarrow's grip was broken. Frowning, she let her hand stay in the air above the baby's face, watching as the little elf tugged on her hand. She allowed it to move slightly with the tugs. An inch or so. Just until it was _almost_ in range of Yarrow's mouth, and then she pulled back, making the girl squeal. Not..._precisely_ frustrated. Yarrow never cried during the proceedings. She just went back to tugging, working harder and harder with each failure.

Grub watched this all, trying to not make some noise himself, but he couldn't help it when he saw a quite familiar glint to Vinyáya's eyes, along with a twitch of her lips. It was something like the look she got before facing off against Holly in the Plaza gym. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Vinyáya didn't say anything, at first. She let Yarrow pull her finger down again, mouth gaping, drool strings lengthening and snapping, little tongue roiling like a worm...and then pulled her finger back to safety.

Vinyáya looked up at Grub and shrugged. "Strength training."

She looked back down at Yarrow, ignoring Grub entirely as her daughter grunted and fought for the finger she so craved.

Grub blinked.

Then, slowly, he smiled. Going to the corner, he grabbed the rocking chair, pushing it to the head of the crib. Without comment, Vinyáya sat down.

Ten minutes later, Nesset called back. Vinyáya had to escape her exhausted daughter and wash her thoroughly drool-covered finger before she could take the phone.

* * *

**Preview: "There's something about you now/ I can't quite figure out./ Everything she does is beautiful./ Everything she does is right."**

* * *

**Name puns are fun. Especially when referencing other series. Guess which series I used here!**

**So, good news: I only have one chapter left to write, though there are three chapters to edit beyond that. But, still, _very_ close to done. Also, there are 895 reviews as of posting. 105 and you all get smut. Which means we either need _slightly_ more than 20 reviews per chapter _or_ someone who has never reviewed before needs to go back and review every chapter. _Very_ doable, people. Come on! Do iiiiiit! You can even recommend the story to a friend and instruct them to review as they go! My only demand is that reviews be of substance. Seriously, one-line responses make me mad. I like to be able to say something back to the reviewer.**

**And, in case anyone is all "dirty trick, you never showed that she had PPD," go back to the end of the birth chapter, k? Also a few other moments past that, too, but that's the most obvios one.**


	55. Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

**Behind-the-scenes snippet**

Grub looked down at his brother, who was lying on the floor, drooling, tongue actually flopped out of his mouth. When a kick to the side got no response, he spoke a bit louder than normal conversation. "So. Heard Kit spent most of Thursday writing your review reward scene with Lili."

Trouble made no response. Unless increasing his rate of drool was a response.

Grub shook his head and left him to his recovery. "Lucky ass..."

* * *

**Song: "You and Me" by Lifehouse**

* * *

**Chapter 55: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You**

"Think she'll be LEP?"

Grub looked at Vinyáya, brows rising. It was only a few weeks into Nesset's "homework," but he thought these sorts of thoughts were promising. Still, he had to shrug, instead of encouraging her train of thought entirely. "She'll be whatever she wants."

Vinyáya snorted into her coffee cup. Once again, decaf. Until Yarrow was weaned, the good stuff was a luxury reserved for right after morning feeding or particularly long days at work. She planned to binge on lattes the day after her daughter was on solids. That and tequila. Perhaps even at the same time. "_You're_ the one who is always going on about how she's 90th percentile this and highly coordinated for her age group that. I'm just saying, if she's so physically fit, the LEP_ is_ sort of a family tradition. And it's a good job, if you can take the work."

"Yeah, maybe, but what about sports? She could be a crunchball center. Or a gymnast. I mean, she likes that 'strength training' thing you two do."

"She likes breast feeding, too," Vinyáya intoned. "What's that going to make her? A lesbian?"

Grub choked on his breakfast pastry. By the time he recovered, Vinyáya was going on about the TK squad. He was happy to go along.

* * *

"Come on," Vinyáya urged, trying to keep both a growl and a whine from her voice as she bounced gently, tapping Yarrow's back. The baby was draped over her shoulder, facing back, and the Councilwoman's formal suit—chosen especially for this particularly meeting, and just barely saved from a "let down" of epic proportions by a break in the intense session—was protected by an entire bath towel. Her breasts felt blessedly light after the simultaneous feeding and pumping, but now other pressures were upon her. Looking across the lobby of Haven City Hall, she glared at the laughing figure of Aconite Lope.

He was surrounded by reporters and a few civilians, including his latest romantic interest: a little pixie whose breasts seemed so out of proportion and stiff that Vinyáya was sure they could be detached and used as bludgeons if the need arose. Amongst a circle of media members and with an arm about his latest bit of eye candy, Lope seemed totally at ease. Which worried Vinyáya greatly.

"Come _on_," she repeated, wincing when she realized she had snapped rather loudly, as Yarrow was now wriggling away from her. Turning to the male at her side, Vinyáya lifted the baby from her shoulder, presenting for a transfer. "She wont burp. You always get her to do it, and I have _got_ to get going, Grub. I can't miss this vote."

Grub briefly considered denying her—Nesset had been recommending further time spent caring for Yarrow, and it seemed to have good results, as Vinyáya was more at ease about the child since complying—but he knew well enough that the session was important. Vinyáya had barely slept the night before, and practiced her arguments whenever she had a spare minute. Even the nursing had been accompanied by an under-the-breath repetition of statistics and quotes. He accepted Yarrow and turned so Vinyáya could place the towel on his shoulder.

Lope roared in approval at something his newest lover had said, squeezing her against his side, bulbous breasts squishing and seeming to pop out of shape as they were jostled by his arm.

Suddenly, Grub smirked and darted away from Vinyáya, who almost dropped the towel as the man vacated the spot where she'd been about to lay it to rest.

"Grub, what are—" Vinyáya estimated his trajectory mid-sentence. "Grub!" she hissed. When his ears didn't even twitch, she hissed again, louder, trying to project her words directly to him without alerting the reporters. "Grub, you ass, get back here!"

"Councilman," Grub cheered, elbowing between two reporters, who initially scowled at the treatment. Then they licked their lips in feverish anticipating as they recognized the man and recalled his ties.

Lope didn't seem to know Grub's voice, as his demeanor was easy as he turned to the captain, immediately flashing to rage for a half-second at recognition. Then he was back to a politician's smoothness (which, as we all know, is the result of all that slime and grease). "Ah! Captain Kelp, yes?"

Grub nodded, his own eyes gone fiery and remaining so, as he had far less experience with acting. "How about a little photo op, eh? Kissing babies and what not? I'm _sure_ you get this all the time," his eyes flashed to the very young-looking pixie, who smiled vapidly back, "but I bet Yarrow'll get a kick out of seeing a picture, once she's older."

Vinyáya stoppeod breathing. Her hands flexed at her side, claws to fists and back. She tried to project her thoughts into Grub's head. Thoughts about hunting trophies mounted on walls. And castration. The two thoughts were actually remarkably closely related.

Grub must have felt some sort of psychic ripple, as he itched his ear with one hand once Lope had reached out and plucked Yarrow from her father's arms.

"Hello, young lady," Lope cooed, the rapid flashing of cameras barely phasing him, though Yarrow squinted, shaking her head to try and escape the painful lights. "Well, I do believe you have your mother's face. Mouth especially."

Vinyáya choked with rage. _I will tie your testicles to the back of my bike and go speeding through downtown, you fucking—_

It is best that no one should ever know the rest of Vinyáya's thoughts. Societies could crumble.

They became even worse as Lope lifted Yarrow up high in the air, her neck unsupported, though luckily now strong enough for at least a few seconds upright without assistance. He brought the babe closer, tilting her, his lips coming in, puckered, aimed at her forehead.

Casually, Grub reached out and tapped Yarrow on the back.

White goo exploded from Yarrow's mouth, hitting Lope's lips straight on, the initial spray lasting only a second. It was followed by one of less force, which angled down to the underside of the Council Head's chin, slipping along his neck and under the loose collar of a fine blue shirt. The fabric turned navy at the collar and in a line halfway down his chest, where it finally stopped, the flow lessened by the cotton's absorbency.

"Oh, d'arvit!" Grub swooped forward, plucking Yarrow from Lope's hands, which had gone into a rictus of horror. "Sorry, Councilman. Babies!" He laughed, draping Yarrow over his shoulder, not minding the third and smallest emission. "Gods, so sorry. I'll cover the dry cleaning. _So_, so sorry." He bobbed his head, halfway to a bow, lips twisted and eyes still burning, and turned, scurrying back to his mate before Lope could recover from his milk bath.

Vinyáya was covering her mouth as Grub approached, but, once he was only a few feet away, her arms shot out.

Grub was certain he was about to get smacked upside the head, but, instead, Yarrow was snatched out of his arms.

"Oh!" Vinyáya cooed, holding the baby tight and nuzzling against her cheek. "My little _saboteur!"_

* * *

Vinyáya never got over her nausea at diaper time, but she had excellent control over her gag reflex (a...Section 8 thing, really), so she never vomited, even in later months, when soy products and corn got involved. Still, she was always relieved to finish the cleaning and toss the dirty items in the mini-washer that sanitized all the cloth diapers. When the last of the straps were velcroed into place and a clean, happy baby lay before Vinyáya, she let out a quick breath, loose lips flapping, letting out a short "Pttttb..."

Yarrow jerked at the noise, staring up at Vinyáya, mouth open. She was still for several seconds. Then her arms began to flail and she gurgled.

Vinyáya stood straighter, looking down at the child. Her eyes darted momentarily to the nursery door, which was open, Grub beyond somewhere, doing his many chores.

Observing her daughter again, Vinyáya took a deep breath, letting it out with another "Pttttttttb."

This raspberry was louder and longer, and Yarrow again jerked and froze, gaping at Vinyáya through the entire event. Once it was over, her legs thumped on the changing table and she broke into what was undoubtedly a smile. She huffed, mouth opening and closing, tongue swirling about.

Vinyáya had a brief flash of alarm, thinking that Yarrow was too scared by the noises to breath correctly. Then she understood.

"Copycat," Vinyáya teased. Breathing again, leaning in so the baby could get a better look at the shape of her mouth, she blew a quick half-dozen raspberries on that one breath.

Screeching with laughter, Yarrow grabbed a stray strand of Vinyáya's hair. She tried the sound again, but, on failing anything but making a mouthful of spit bubbles, decided that trying to eat the hair was just as entertaining.

"Hey! That's mine!" Vinyáya tugged at the locks and found Yarrow's grip surprisingly strong. It was just what she deserved, with all that "strength training" nonsense. "Give it..." she cajoled.

Yarrow looked back with all innocence, mouth opening and closing slowly, turning the silver of the hair a more pewter color with spit.

"Oh. That does it. Ahhhhh..." Vinyáya breathed in theatrically, giving the little elf a chance to cease her mastication, and then she leaned over, pressing her mouth to Yarrow's chest. "Pttttb!"

Yarrow let the hair go instantly, laughter wet from her spittle. Kicking and flailing her limbs, she tried in vain to escape the onslaught.

Vinyáya gathered all her hair in one hand, shaking it so the ends tickled Yarrow's face. She crowed in triumph. "Yeah! Can't take it, can you? Ah pttttb!" This time she got Yarrow's belly-button, then the side of her neck, then her forehead. The baby's cries—undoubtedly amused, if a tiny bit outraged—had just begun to diminish as she ran out of air when Vinyáya deigned to back off.

And noticed the tiny red light in the doorway.

Head snapping up, she immediately recognized a camera. And then the man holding it.

Grub, seeing he was discovered, finally let himself laugh. "Oh, gods, I'm sending this to _everyone!"_

* * *

"Ah buh buh buh."

"Hmmm...are you sure?"

"Blllllp. Nah nah nah...maw!"

"Well, I suppose so. But, still, is that really feasible?"

"Gaaaaa! Rumumumummmmm."

"You do make a valid point, I'll give you that."

Grub peeked his head into the living room, where Vinyáya sat on the couch, flipping through some documents on a data tablet as Yarrow lay on her back in the playpen, chewing on her own feet and babbling. He blinked a second, looking between the women. "Um...what are you talking about?"

"I've no idea," Vinyáya drawled, scanning a page. "But _don't_ disagree with her. She will just go on and _on_ until she wins."

He stared at Vinyáya a few moments more. Then, backing away, Grub walked back down the hall to finish folding laundry.

* * *

The Wing Commander didn't just take on baby duties. Vinyáya was a hopeless cook, but she'd lived on her own long enough to be reasonably proficient at chores. Of course, Grub had to teach her the "proper" way to fold clothes (i.e. his way), but she got along well enough with laundry after that. Just a load or two a month, but he seemed to appreciate the gesture, what with all the baby clothes that augmented the normal wash and his own increasing workload at the Plaza, as Verres dumped more and more duties on his new favorite office slave.

Vinyáya was just putting everything away, opening Grub's sock drawer, which was nearly empty after two weeks of overtime at Traffic. Shoving one pair in towards the back (as Grub had informed her that, of _course_, newly cleaned clothes should go at back and bottom of all drawers, so clothes were worn in a rotation...the spaz), her knuckles brushed something she couldn't help but consider...odd for a sock drawer. Especially for obsessive-compulsive Grub's sock drawer, where naught but socks must dwell. Vinyáya pulled the item out.

She recognized it immediately, and was horrified to realize her hands shook. She quickly conquered the tremors and looked about the bedroom, as if Grub would suddenly appear, even though he'd messaged her about wrapping things up at the Plaza a few minutes ago. It would be at least another ten before he finished his commute, and that was without some extra delay.

She almost expected there to be an alarm on the black velvet box, but a quick look assured her that there was no such thing. Her long nails easily slipped into the line of the lid, flipping the box open, the object inside instantly glittering and glowing in the bedroom's dim lights.

Vinyáya slammed the box closed and tossed it into the drawer, shoving the clean socks in after and slamming the drawer closed. Backing several feet away, she stared at the dresser, as if she could see through it. Or as if it spoke to her. Called to her.

She was still there some time later when she heard keys in the front door, heralding her mate's arrival home. With one last glance at the dresser, she left the bedroom, greeting him normally, despite the pounding of her heart.

* * *

"Give," Holly demanded the second Vinyáya stepped out of the LEP daycare holding Yarrow.

Vinyáya blinked at her subordinate, who must have cut out of work rather quickly once she realized Vinyáya was on her way home, and who was now glaring at her sometimes-manager's mental slowness. "Magic word?" she prompted.

"_Give_," Holly snapped, leaning over and taking Yarrow from her mother's arms. The major nuzzled at the girl's earlobe-length dual-color hair, breathing deeply the scent of baby. "Mmmm..."

"You sound like you're going to eat her."

Holly laughed. "Om!" Gently, she bit Yarrow's shoulder.

The infant squeaked, jerking away and giving Holly a rather sullen look.

"Awww..." Holly poked her nose at the child's forehead. "Truce?"

Eyes still suspicious, Yarrow leaned into Holly's chest.

"So, what's Fowl been saying about children, of late?" Vinyáya tried to not smirk. Holly was such a dichotomy. One minute, going on about wanting more field missions—the kinds that involved angry trolls or lots of guns pointed at her being the Major's preference—and the next whining about her unoccupied uterus, as if she didn't realize that the two things did not mix well.

"That he's only thirty five, and that's too young for kids." She snorted. "Maybe if he wasn't _human_ for twenty-four of those years! I'm a hundred and three! Isn't that a good age to start a family?"

Vinyáya was about to point out that she herself was in her sixth century before becoming a parent, but was stopped as Holly shrieked, a hand coming up to cover her left breast.

"Yarrow!" She barked, shifting her grip so the baby sunk down to stomach height.

Yarrow hiccuped. Once. Twice. Then, with a deep, preparatory breath, she began to wail.

Holly winced, looking to Vinyáya with wide, apologetic eyes. "Sh-she must be hungry. I should have..." handing Yarrow over, she backed away, still clutching her slobber-covered breast. "I'll...um...give you two a few minutes while I go wash up." She spun on her heel, running down the hall and toward a washroom at top speed.

Yarrow wriggled in her mother's arms until she could see Holly's back for a last few seconds. When the short elf was out of sight, she hiccuped again, reaching out with both hands, flexing her fingers. "Buh buh buh!"

"I know, baby," Vinyáya soothed, moving the child about in her arms until they could rest foreheads together, letting the commander speak low and confidentially. "Her boobs are very nice, but I don't think she swings that way. Besides, she's taken."

Yarrow decided that now was a great time for a tantrum.

Vinyáya sighed, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. First heartbreak. She didn't blame the girl one bit.

* * *

"This is...the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen," Grub whispered. His elbows were on one corner of the kitchen table, hands supporting his head as he leaned over to get a closer look at his daughter.

Yarrow was sitting in her high chair, looking at the little plastic table before her with supreme concentration. On it was arrayed a few dozen torus-shaped cereal bits which Mud Men might call "Cheerios." Several had been pushed into the corners, out of her reach, but a few were right in range.

Slowly, with utmost care, she extended her hand, fingers opening and closing until she touched one of the circles. At this, Yarrow became quite excited, kicking her legs, the movement nearly spoiling her victory as the rest of the cereal shifted. Luckily, she managed to keep her grip, though the cereal slipped between her ring and middle finger, instead of being pinched delicately by thumb and index. After a slow move towards her face, during which Grub bit his lip, anticipating the disastrous fall of the cereal, Yarrow shoved her fist into her mouth, chewing it and the rapidly dissolving snack with equal enthusiasm.

At the other side of the table, Vinyáya, who had also been watching, though a bit more casually, suddenly winced, holding her hand to her side. "D'arvit! I swear to _Frond_, I just dropped an egg!"

Grub turned and raised his brows in interest, eyes darting down to Vinyáya's stomach region.

Without even looking at him, Vinyáya growled. "Don't even _think_ about it."

Grub sulked. Then he was distracted as Yarrow reached out for another bite.

* * *

One evening, shortly after Yarrow was fully weaned, Grub was again sitting at the breakfast table with Vinyáya, sipping a cup of coffee and scanning his data tablet for the day's news.

He, unfortunately, had just taken a large mouthful of milk-overloaded java as he clicked on the Society page. His screen was promptly peppered by little brown dots. "Wh-wha—"

He turned to Vinyáya, who was glancing over at her own tablet every few seconds and then turning back to Yarrow, feeding her applesauce by tiny spoonfuls as she said the next line in her speech for the coming Council meeting.

"Vin, what is _this_?" He shoved the befouled tablet towards his mate.

Ignoring the pet name—so long as it wasn't used in public, she had grown to tolerate the diminutive—Vinyáya made sure that Yarrow got a reasonable amount of applesauce in her mouth before examining the display. After some time, she shrugged and looked back down at her speech. "The media was harassing us. It's lucky I didn't punch someone."

"_Vinyáya_," Grub barked, full name clearly conveying serious business, "you are supposed to be setting an example for our daughter!"

"Well...I am," she reasoned, getting another spoonful into Yarrow, who mashed at the mush and slammed her hands on the high table, legs scissor-kicking to some unheard music.

"A _good_ example."

"Tsh. Picky, picky..."

"Vinyáya. You. Do not. Teach out daughter..._that!_"

On the tablet, striding out of a coffee shop, Vinyáya held Yarrow to her hip with one arm, the other barely managing to both hold a coffee cup and flip off the reporters walking in front of her, no doubt asking questions in an attempt to get a quick interview. Yarrow—her mixed hair long enough to reach her cheeks, slightly curly at the end—held her own sippy cup of milk in one hand and copied her mother perfectly, right up to the glare, hand stretched out to display a prominent middle finger.

"Look," Vinyáya soothed, "if _I_ didn't teach her, she was just going to learn it from the other toddlers at daycare, right?"

Groaning, Grub rubbed his hands over his face. "What did I do to deserve this family...?"

* * *

"Mmm mmm. Duuuu...maaaa..."

"Come on," Grub cooed, crouching at crib-side, his hands gripping the rail, Yarrow's own hands gripping in between. "You can do it. Say 'Dada'."

"Daaaa...Mmmmm..." Yarrow beamed at her accomplishment and bent her legs, not quite hopping, but bouncing excitedly. She gnawed on the rail, which already had a few indentations from her first teeth.

Vinyáya sat to the side in the rocking chair, legs crossed and hands in her lap, observing silently. Perhaps she should have been right in there with Grub, but watching him get so worked up brought her more joy than being involved in the coaching. She had never fallen into "baby euphoria," like most elves, but it had been months since she was deemed "cured" by Nesset, and now they only spoke for a few check-ins. Even without the elven emotional overload, she smiled easily, enjoying watching her mate vie for that most important gift his daughter could give: making him her first word.

"Daaa-daaa," Grub enunciated.

"Da...da...nnnn..." Yarrow furrowed her brows in concentration, as if she understood how important this was. "Deee...deee...da...deee... Daaaaada. Dada."

"Yes!" Grub cried out, arms shooting in the air, startling Yarrow, who lost her grip on the rail and fell onto her diapered backside. Before she could build up to a good cry, she was swept into her father's arms, praised and hugged and kissed with abandon. "Yes, Yarrow! Dada! I'm your daddy!"

"Dada," Yarrow repeated. "Dada!"

Whooping, Grub spun, making Yarrow giggle and scream. "Dadaaaa!"

"Aaaa!" Yarrow agreed.

"Aaaaaaa!"

Vinyáya shook her head, shoulders shaking with laughter.

* * *

"Mmmm...Mama."

Vinyáya was glad she hadn't picked Yarrow up quite yet, because she probably would have dropped her.

At her back, Grub and Trouble—along for the pickup from daycare before they met with Hibiscus for an extended family dinner—turned to one another and, silently and with great dignity, bumped fists.

Yarrow looked right at Vinyáya. "Mama. Mmmmama."

"Holy...Frond," Vinyáya murmured, finally lifting her daughter from the group play area, placing her on her hip. "Well...whose 'Mama'?"

Yarrow pointed at Vinyáya.

"Whose 'Daddy'?"

"Dada!" Yarrow said confidently, pointing to Grub.

"Okay...whose Yarrow?"

The toddler frowned a moment, puzzled, then slapped her hands to her chest, beaming. "Yaw!"

"Right!" Slitting her eyes mischievously, Vinyáya turned and pointed to Trouble. "Whose that?"

Yarrow leaned back in her mother's arms, looking Trouble up and down with a scowling. After a few seconds, she looked to her mother and shrugged. "Dada."

Grub choked and turned to Trouble, teeth bared.

Recognizing danger, the Commander shook his head. "No, I'm Trouble! Uncle Trouble."

Yarrow stared at Trouble, incredulous.

"Trouble," the elder male repeated. "Trou-ble."

"Tuh..." Yarrow stopped and pouted.

"Trrrrr," he said, trilling the r's.

"Tuh...Tuh..."

"Trrrrrubs," Trouble supplied, apparently settling for a shorter name.

Yarrow's mouth fell open, and she looked even more confused. "Tuh...Tuh... TUB!"

Vinyáya barked a laugh and quickly covered her mouth, staring wide-eyed at the Kelp boys.

It was too late. Yarrow beamed at her mother. "Tub! Tub Tub Tub Tub _Tub!"_

Trouble looked a bit off-color. "No, sweetheart. Trouble. Trrrrrouble. Trubs."

"Tub!"

"Trrrr—"

Grub lay a hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing tight. "Give it up. It's a lost battle." He smirked. "Commander Tub."

* * *

"Vinyáya!" Grub shrilled. "Living room! _Quick!_"

She didn't even bother to log out of her Section 8 site before tearing out of the office, reaching the living room in record time, already analyzing where her neutrinos were concealed, ready to fend off whatever had so alarmed Grub.

Two steps past the entryway, she froze.

Yarrow stood in front of Grub, wobbling, but without so much as a finger against his crouched legs for support. On sight of her mother, she waved. Then, slowly, Yarrow took a half-shuffling step forward. Then another.

Vinyáya sank to one knee, watching, not daring to breath in case the slight force would knock the ponderous child over.

Another step. Another. And, before either parent realized it, Yarrow was resting her hands on Vinyáya's knee to stead herself.

"Dear...Frond," Vinyáya whispered.

"Geeeee," Yarrow confirmed, grabbing a handful of the Wing Commander's hair and shoving it into her mouth.

Grub shuffled forward until he could place his hands on Vinyáya's hips, leaning forward so their lips brushed. Both were wise enough to not comment on the other's tears.

* * *

"Tub!" Grub called, opening the door to his brother's apartment. "We're here!"

"One sec! Come he—Shirley, no!"

From the back of the apartment rang out a great "_rowl!_" A little figure made of pale gray and white galloped down the hall, tail high, long fur wafting and taunting the elf following her.

Flitting between Grub's legs, Shirley found her bid for escape thwarted by a scream of "KITTY!" and the grip of perhaps the strongest toddler in all of Haven.

"Kittyyyyyy," Yarrow repeated, squeezing Shirley until the full-grown cat squeaked. The girl buried her head into the cat's fur and breathed deep.

Then sneeze mightily.

Now quite thoroughly covered in snot, Shirley managed to wriggle from the elf's arms without using her claws, running to the back of the hall, where she sat down and began to groom herself furiously.

"Kit-teh!" Yarrow tromped down the hall after the car, her arms outstretched.

Tail puffing to thrice normal size, Shirley hissed before running into Trouble's bedroom.

Grub looked at Vinyáya, eyes shimmering. "Its not fair..."

* * *

Two days later, Grub came home from work a bit late.

He held a small plastic crate, and from within came a shuffling and scratching.

Vinyáya, who had been playing a hand-held game of zombie evisceration while wearing headphones, allowing Yarrow possession of the TV to watch her favorite singing cartoon movie (for the thousandth fucking _time!) _looked up from her fight with the very rare undead conjoined twins. Seeing the crate, she snapped the game closed. "Gruuuuub..."

"It's a good idea!" He put the box on the floor and began opening the top. "Yarrow, I've got someone for you to meet."

Yarrow looked over, half interested until she saw the strange crate. Sliding off the couch, she walked over, by now confident in her steps.

"She's _allergic_," Vinyáya reminded.

"To cats," Grub replied. "He's not a cat." Undoing the last clasp, Grub looked to his daughter. "Okay, honey. Say hello!"

The lid was flipped open and Yarrow craned her neck to stare inside.

After a few seconds, she tilted her head and said, tentatively, "K...kitty?"

With some scratching and chittering, the animal pulled itself onto the top of the crate's wall. A long, pointed snout. Black head and back, but white sides and stomach. Clever paws that had a greater resemblance to hands. And a long, hairless tail, which rested on the crate top for balance.

Yarrow bit her lip.

Then she began to bawl. "No kitty! No kitty!" She backed away, tripping on the edge of a rug and falling on her rear, which doubled the decibel level of her cries. "No kitttyyyyy!"

The rat looked up at Grub and squeaked, "Well, I can't say I'm thrilled, either."

Grub had gone a bit pale, as he'd never grown used to his baby's tantrums. He swallowed and reached out, tapping the rat's rump in an effort to urge it off the crate. "Um...go...say hello."

The rat glared at Grub. Then, sighing, he jumped off the side of the box and waddled over to Yarrow, who was too busy rubbing her eyes and coughing between screams to notice him. After a moment's study, he stretched out his body to a rather impressive length, which made him seem much thinner, and delicately nibbled the toddler's heel.

Startled, Yarrow stopped crying and peeked out between her fingers. Her eyes still shimmered and her cheeks were streaked by the tears, plastering her hair down.

"Greetings, young miss," the rat squeaked, rising to sit on his back legs, tail curing about his feet. "You may call me 'Cornelius'." He bobbed his head. "And may I have the pleasure of your acquaintance?"

Yarrow stared at the rodent, who was only squeaking to her magic-less ears. Then she looked at her father. Querulously, she stated, "He's...ugly kitty."

Cornelius snapped around to look at Grub. "I say! Did she just call me—"

"Ugly kitty!" Yarrow squealed, snatching up the rat and hugging him tight, forcing out further squeaks, though these were more like a chew toy than a living creature's cries. "Ugly kitty!"

"Gentle!" Grub yelped, tugging on Yarrow's arms until she gave the rat enough room to breath.

"This is most undignified," the animal muttered. "I must protest!"

And protest he did. For weeks. But it was unavoidable. Cornelius the rat was renamed "Ugly Kitty," though eventually Yarrow was convinced to call him U.K. Undoubtedly, he would have tried to escape and rejoin his wild brethren if the full name remained in use. Which would have been a tragedy, for Yarrow completely, unreservedly, fanatically loved her very, very ugly kitty.

* * *

"Yarrow. Yarrow, stop! Yarrow, you get back here, or so help me!"

Giggling and adorned only in a towel and a hat made of lime-green shampoo bubbles, Yarrow ran from the back yard and into the dining room, where her mother sat with Councilman Nyle and Cahartez, trying—most likely in vain—to sway their votes in the meeting that week. Once she realized the goblin and dwarf were present, Yarrow stopped running and stared at them, mouth open.

A column of suds collapse off her head, sending a cascade of bubbles onto the rug with a loud "splut."

Cahartez's brows rose. Smoke came out of Nyle's nostrils.

Grub was right behind, apologizing and reaching for his daughter's hand. "Sorry, I turned away for a _second_, and—"

"I'm this many!" Yarrow declared, holding out three fingers.

The goblin's smoke signals stopped abruptly. He looked at Vinyáya, tongue flicking out to moisten an eyeball.

She smiled nervously. "In a week, Yarrow. You're still only two."

Yarrow considered this.

"Fwee!" She declared. In case any of the observers were unsure which word she was mispronouncing, the trio of fingers was again presented.

Grub gave up on leading Yarrow away, instead scooping her up, nodding at the Council members. "Sorry. She's a bit excitable."

"Like her mother," Cahartez murmured.

Face reddening, Grub mouthed one last "sorry" at Vinyáya and scurried out of the sliding glass doors to finish Yarrow's bath in the pond.

Looking to the other council members, Vinyáya smiled painfully. "I apologize. Kids." She laughed briefly, fading to silence.

Cahartez grunted. "Can't keep your own brood in check."

Vinyáya was about to protest, but another smoke burst from Nyle stopped her. "At leasssst she doesn't have magic yet. When my daughtersssss completed the Ritual, they kept setting the housssssse on fire."

Vinyáya, of course, knew that Nyle had children, but he'd never brought them up in conversation. Most of what he said to her was rather...lacking in civility. "Really? I've been wondering if it's time for that. What about you, Cahartez? How was Wilhelmina?"

He sniffed with great dignity. "A perfect lady, I assure you. Until she met that...that shiftless criminal she is foolish enough to call a 'boyfriend.' I swear, if I ever get my hands on that M—"

"Weh-hell!" Vinyáya interrupted before the dwarf reached the complete end of his fuse. "Where were we gentlemen? Section 9-a? Now, as I was saying..."

* * *

With three jobs and a child, Vinyáya rarely had time for herself, and she often came home late. One evening, some weeks after the meeting at her house, she arrived home in the wee-est hours, following a Section 8 mission she'd just barely managed to pass off as last-minute work in the Wings. Some day, she would have to tell Grub about her secret-ops position, but, for now, he just assumed she was busy, like every other commander.

As quiet as she could, Vinyáya entered the bedroom and changed into a plain, large t-shirt and loose flannel pants before sliding into bed.

The shift in the mattress was enough to rouse Grub, and he looked over at his partner blearily.

Then his lips curved and his eyes—while still soft from sleep—turned purposeful, in that unstoppable grin of all Kelps. Soon, the world was clothes moved aside, but not taken off. Shifting bodies. A hand in just the right place. The perfect rhythm together. Hot breath on her neck. Biting down on the pillow to keep silent. And then the sudden recognition that she was on the precipice, then over, and she knew by how his hands went tight on her hips that he wasn't far behind, going deep, fast, hard.

Then..._click._ And _creeeeeak_. And...

"Muh...Mommy?"

Grub stopped moving at the first noise. Vinyáya could swear his temperature dropped a good five degrees in under three seconds.

"Mommy?" Yarrow said again, walking into the room, U.K. perched on her shoulder. She rubbed at her eye with one fist, and both eyes looked quite red. "I...Mommy, I had a bad dream..."

Vinyáya sat up in the bed, so very glad her mate had been in too much of a hurry to disrobe. Her shifting uncoupled them, but that would have happened quite soon anyway, as his daughter's arrival had a significant...reductive effect on Grub's _amor_. "Oh, honey...what about?"

"I...I don't know. Can...can I sleep with you tonight?"

Vinyáya snuck a look at Grub and winced at his expression. Before she could say no, however, he was nodding, shifting slightly to make himself decent, breathing deeply to conquer his pain.

"Of course," Vinyáya said, holding out a hand to help her daughter up on the bed.

Once up, Yarrow seemed to burrow with the finesse of a dwarf, under the covers and between her parents, curled up against Vinyáya's side. The second U.K. was also settled, curled into her neck, she grabbed his tail with one hand and stuck the thumb of her other hand into her mouth, and Yarrow was out.

Vinyáya sighed, shaking her head at the girl, then looked across at Grub, who had regained color in his face, but was still wincing. "Sorry," she mouthed.

He shook his head. After another minute to settle down, he reached over and wrapped his arm about Vinyáya's waist, moving closer until Yarrow was squeezed between their chests. Despite his discomfort, he still managed to drift off before Vinyáya, who watched her family a while before smiling contentedly and closing her eyes.

* * *

The next day, an hour or so into their shifts, Grub arrived at Vinyáya's office, holding a small box and grumbling about having some crystals of data to hand off. Vinyáya was about to point out that he had lackeys to do that job when the door clicked closed.

He was upon her in a moment, and it was over shockingly soon. At least in her experience. She took some time to realize that Grub's sudden cessation of moment and deep, guttural groan was the end, and she couldn't help but laugh a bit. "Gods...it hasn't really been _that_ long, has it?"

Steadying himself with locked arms to either side of Vinyáya's hips as she sat on her desk, Grub gulped a huge breath and then also laughed. "Yes and no. It's...um...the office."

"Ahhh..." She flushed, rubbing a hand along his arm. "Well, if you're up for more, I'd be willing to hand in some paperwork late today..."

Thumping his head on Vinyáya's shoulder, he grumbled, "If only...they're probably already wondering where I am. I was _supposed_ to just be asking about your schedule."

"Schedule? Why?"

Grub lifted his head, pouting a bit before he was forced to break away from his mate, both elves quickly setting about putting their rumpled clothes back in place. "The Ritual. Yarrow's. She's been having a lot of nightmares lately, and the Ritual is supposed to help with that. It gives kids something to 'fight' the monsters with. I think we should all go up next week."

Vinyáya smoothed down her skirt. "I don't know... Can she even say the words yet?"

"The nursery started coaching her a few weeks ago. They said she's probably ready, and there's always someone at the family site to help if a child gets nervous." After a final check of his clothes, Grub turned his attention fully to Vinyáya. "So, can you make it?"

She considered her packed schedule. "I'm...not sure. Do you need me there?"

Grub bit his lip, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well...I really..._want_ us to do this together. It _is_ an important event. Please?"

Vinyáya closed her eyes at the pleading in the words. She nodded, even if she already felt the wrath of Holly, who much preferred having her full moon nights off, like all hormonal young elves. "Yes. Yes, of course."

Grub let out a little cry of pleasure, much like a puppy yip, coming forward and taking Vinyáya's hands. She opened her eyes just in time to see him looking down at their four clasped palms, and then to her face. A lightning-fast kiss, a whispered "love you," and he was gone.

Vinyáya examined her hands, puzzled, and then looked to her door, which was already halfway closed. Shrugging, she picked her chair up off the floor, retrieved a data tablet, and gathered the crystals from where they had been thrown. Then she settled in to make the dreaded call to Holly.

* * *

**Preview: "Well, you are the one, the one that lies close to me./ Whispers "Hello, I've missed you quite terribly."/ I fell in love, in love with you suddenly./ Now there's no place else I could be but here in your arms."**

* * *

**84 reviews to 1000, as of posting. Come onnnnn! You can do it! Don't make Trouble sad! Seriously. Lili is...um...very good at what she does.**


	56. You Are the One

**There's a little fairy tale relating to the intro of this story that I'll post in "Fragments of the Past" in the next couple of weeks. Other things come first (like smut...please see note at end of story).**

* * *

**Song: "Here (In Your Arms)" by Hellogoodbye**

**(Apologies to my friends that used this as the song for their epic proposal, but it's such a good song)**

* * *

**Chapter 56: You Are the One**

It was one of those mid-summer evenings that started out oppressively muggy, smoothing down to cool and simply damp closer to dawn, leaving late-night wanderers wondering if they should bring along a sweater or if it would just be an encumbrance. As the air cooled, the moisture—which had seemed just a drop or two short of an actual bath, and all the more uncomfortable for failing to get there—began to coat the leaves and stems of the Georgian plants, freshening the air. A few fields over, a farmer had cut down a stretch of alfalfa, releasing the intoxicating scent of decomposing grasses, making the fairy's heads spin as they emerged from the chute terminal and into a tightly-packed peach orchard. Each group that came out had at least one adult and one child, though occasionally more of either or both categories, and the children were only a few degrees more awed by the tiny glows of fireflies than their guardians were.

Vinyáya wasn't completely immune to the wonders of the surface, despite her frequent Section 8 trips, but she put on a mostly stoic face so long as the officers on duty could see her. She let Grub and Yarrow gasp in wonderment, with her taking on the role of responsible parent, ushering them to the one oak tree amidst all of the peaches, where they collected acorns from the lowest branches. She gritted her teeth as their wings started up once more—not diesel, but they jerked terribly in comparison to the riggings she used on missions—and followed the slow trickle of fairies formed by the rest of their shuttle group.

They broke from the trees, still flying relatively low, passing by officers waiting midair, lighting the way with Traffic suits that displayed only the tiniest of arrows for further, silent directions. Vinyáya's eyes pinched every few seconds as Grub's wings spluttered, making him and their daughter dip, Yarrow shrieking in glee at the roller coaster ride. She'd have to do a little inspection on his equipment before they left, and would probably invest in their own sets of wings before the next family Ritual trip.

They landed in the middle of the half-harvested alfalfa field, waist-high plants at their back, the tips just beginning to open into blue flowers. About them, several tied bales waited, giving off the pleasant rotting smell of freshly cut grass. In bare feet, the denuded field might have been painful, but none of the fairies said a word about the conditions, lining up to have their passes checked off once more before walking forward a final few steps...and disappearing.

At least to the outside world. As Vinyáya's family walked past the guard, they felt a rush over their skin, like a line of cold water, and the world rippled and rearranged itself. When it resolved, the previously disappeared fairies were again in sight, spreading out to take advantage of every square inch of a 200 foot diameter dome. Its walls were honeycombed and translucent, giving occupants an outside view that was something like looking into a fishbowl. Five cylinders were placed equidistant on the perimeter, and out of the top what seemed like electricity arced. But electricity, of course, is not deep, deep red. Nº1 or one of the other demon warlocks must have supplied the power for this time stop, whose purpose was not so much to lengthen the stay of the fairy occupants, but to make them invisible to humans, giving the greatest protection possible to Haven's greatest and rarest asset.

Grub and Vinyáya walked to the opposite end of the dome, wanting to get as far from family groups as possible, though it would, undoubtedly, be in vain. At least the media wasn't here, thanks in part to the LEP's policies about family Ritual sites, and also thanks to Vinyáya filing some false papers. Somewhere in Russia, there was a very confused station attendant, wondering why his quiet port was filled with a dozen cameras and shivering wanna-be TV celebrities.

Despite her fascination at the surface, Yarrow held onto her father's neck as long as she could, pouting when he leaned over and gently broke her grip. Once plopped on the ground, she crossed her arms and tried to look stern, but was thwarted by the weak glow of a passing firefly, it's light seeming to amplify the awe in her eyes. She made to run after, but Grub put a firm hand on her head, gripping just enough to make her legs veer back around so she could face her parents.

"Daddyyyyyyyy!" Yarrow whined, stomping a foot.

"Ritual first, then you can play," Vinyáya reminded, taking on the stern role upon seeing a break in Grub's resolve. She wasn't typical, as fairy mother's went, but that was okay. She could be stern. He could be more caring. In conjunction, they hit the most important points of parenting fairly well, gender switch notwithstanding. "Do you still have your acorn?

Rolling her eyes, Yarrow's hand opened, showing off far more branch than seed. She didn't seem to notice the half-dozen other families already trickling out of the dome, off to fetch another acorn after an undisciplined child had dropped theirs. She probably wouldn't have deigned to be less annoyed with her mother even if she had noticed.

"Remember the words?" Grub asked.

"Yes, Daddy," Yarrow said sweetly, twisting side to side so her skirt—"distressingly pink" in Holly's words—wrapped about her thick black stockings.

Vinyáya resisted the urge to also roll her eyes. Not even four, and it was like the girl had hit pubescence already. She was going to be terrible when hormones started surging. "Okay, then. Let's do this and let you get to playing." She knelt, her family following suit, arranging themselves in three points. Grub and Vinyáya dug shallow holes and Yarrow watched a moment before she, too, scooped up some dirt, looking shocked at the warm wetness of soil, though luckily not disgusted. When they each had a few inches scooped out, they held their right fists over the holes.

Grub started in almost a whisper. If alone and performing the Ritual, he might not have even said the words, merely thinking them, but now he guided the young girl before him with soft utterances. "I return you..."

Vinyáya repeated the words instantly and, after a few heartbeats, Yarrow caught up, almost mumbling the words, but getting them out clear enough.

"...to the earth..."

"...to the earth..."

"...and reclaim the gift..."

"...and reclaim the gift..."

"...that is my right."

"...that is my right."

Vinyáya's magic wasn't low, having completed the Ritual just two months prior, so it came as an almost tickling trickle, barely making her fingertips pulse with light. Next to her, Grub's entire hands, up to the wrists, shone, though the briefness of the transfer showed he was at most half-empty.

And, to her right, Yarrow's entire body was suffused with the light blue of newest magic. Nearly white, covering every inch of her body, even shining out of her eyes and mouth as she opened them, gasping in shock. The force of the transfer made her bi-color hair float. Her skin steamed off the few pollutants she was exposed to in Haven. She shouted something, and it was not in Gnommish.

It did not take terribly long to fill the girl up—maybe fifteen seconds—but, at the end, she slumped, propping herself up with her hands on either side of the acorn's hole, as if praying. Her hair fell back down, the morning's styling completely ruined, looking more like a somewhat crushed dandelion head of oddest colors.

When she didn't move, Grub leaned forward, crouching further to get on level. "Yarrow? Are you okay, honey?"

Another long, long pause.

Then she screamed.

Not in terror. No. That little-girl scream that pretty much just says "LOOK HOW LOUD I CAN BE!" She leapt to her feet, arms waving, still screaming.

Grub leaned back, alarmed.

Vinyáya laughed briefly. "And that, honey, is called 'running hot'." She waved at her daughter, who got the cue and bolted like a wild horse, joining a group of other magic-filled children in the center of the dome. All were shrieking and chasing some very scared fireflies.

Vinyáya was about to stand and take up watch, even if she wasn't technically on duty, but Grub leaned over, wrapping his arms about her waist and tackling the woman to the ground, crushing the gleanings of alfalfa, releasing more of the heady scent. Vinyáya tried to protest, at first, but a well-aimed nuzzle just below the ear cut off the words and she decided he could have his way. This once.

Still, they settled facing the children, Grub laying back, propped up on his elbows, Vinyáya sitting between his legs, her back to his chest so she could feel his breath in her hair and hear his heart. Knowing her mate would have his eyes fixed on their daughter, Vinyáya allowed her eyes to close, trying to sink into what nature could be found in a Mud Man cultivated field.

"Are you sure her magic will flow correctly?"

Vinyáya shrugged. "Unless you've been sneaking her meat when I work late, it should work just fine."

Grub shuddered at the idea of meat. Depending on species, it could be just as effective as dousing a magic user in animal fat. "Of course not. Only...I worry."

"Worry?" Vinyáya gasped. "You? What _has_ come over you?"

Grub lightly tapped Vinyáya's nose. "Stop. I'm serious."

She sighed. Of course he was. "We'll know in a minute or so."

"Really?" Grub tilted his head. "Why? She—ah! Yarrow!"

Vinyáya scowled as Grub pushed himself further up, ruining her comfort as he tried to stand. She reluctantly opened her eyes.

In the center of the family space, Yarrow and a sprite stood, a few other children stopping their rampage to watch the crisis. Both fairies had hands to their foreheads, taking in the first, deep breaths of a really good cry. A little blood was trickling from Yarrow's lips.

Before Grub could sprint forward to do fatherly healing duty, Vinyáya had a grip on his waistband, pulling him down. He snapped something (probably including "my _daughter_," that being his favorite phrase), but she just tugged harder, silencing him. "One second..."

Yarrow's mouth began to glow, the light rising to her shock-widened eyes. She stopped crying, shakily reaching up to touch the injury. When her fingers came away clean, she once more sought out the blood—which she had clearly tasted, amplifying her earlier distress—and still came away with nothing. She looked at the sprite, whose own magic had just shut off, leaving him gaping and unwounded.

As if sharing a thought, they broke into simultaneous ear-to-ear grins.

"AHHHHHHH!"

Shrieking so loud Vinyáya had to wonder if the time stop would really contain such noise, Yarrow charged at the sprite, whose wings—still too immature for flight—flapped several times, helping him to spin and run away from the crazy elf girl, bringing them back into the play group, now even more reckless with their bodily safety than before.

Still grumbling, Grub settled down, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Should have let me go," he sulked.

"You need to stop worrying so much," Vinyáya said for the thousandth time, reclaiming her reclining position. "She's got magic now. She can handle these things."

"I'm supposed to worry. She's my daughter. You're my mate, Arnica. I _shouldn't_ do anything else."

Vinyáya hummed.

Then scowled. She looked up at Grub, not quite irritated enough to leave his lap. Yet. "Oh no. We've been over this."

"This?" he said casually. "This what?"

"My name," the commander said. "Look, I'm okay with Vin, _maybe_ even VinVin, _at home_." She made sure to stress that. "VinVin" really did irritate her, and if a coworker started using it...Internal Affairs would cry. "But _no one _calls me Arnica."

"Well, too bad, Arnica," Grub snapped, removing his hands from his pockets. "You're just going to have to get used to it..._Arnica!_"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"_Why?_"

"Because," Grub suddenly went to a whisper, arms wrapping about Vinyáya's shoulders, bringing his hands together in front of the woman's chest, "I was hoping you wouldn't be 'Vinyáya' forever."

It wasn't a very bright light, but Vinyáya was certain she'd been blinded as Grub flipped the box open and the tiny gold-mounted gem reflected the stars and full moon. Her mouth dropped open. Her breathing stopped.

"Arnica Vinyáya," Grub said, voice low, words drifting gently into his lover's ears, "I have every intention of spending the rest of my life with you. But I want to know if _you_ want to stay with me. And I want everyone else to know. So...will you do me...the highest honor...and marry me?"

She found herself nodding without even thinking. As if she never would have had to think about the answer. "Yes...yes, but..." She looked away from the ring and up to Grub, whose smile was faltering a bit at her frown. "I'm not changing my last name."

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss his lady. "Eh. Worth a shot?"

She snorted. "Not even."

A few other fairies had noticed the interchange and caught the attention of their companions as Grub removed the ring from it's box and slid it onto Vinyáya's finger. Cell phone cameras were clicking, and Vinyáya cringed. The news would be all over Haven even before they'd returned. And that meant everyone they knew was going to get the news second hand. Duke...Duke was going to throw a hissy-fit.

"I...may have asked some people over to the house," Grub said, all too casually. "You know...just in case."

Her tension began to ease and Vinyáya snickered. "What if I'd said no?"

"Trouble brought tequila."

"Ooo," Vinyáya said brightly. "Well, I'm half-tempted to cut the trip short, now!"

"Awww...let her play." Grub wrapped his arms about Vinyáya's waist, pulling her as close as possible, resting his chin on her shoulder so they could both watch the children in their wild games.

Vinyáya looked away from her...gods, _fiance_, checking on the girl.

Yarrow appeared to have caught a few fireflies, as her cheeks were glowing, hands slapped over her mouth to conquer liberating giggles.

"Are those poisonous?"

"Not to elves," Vinyáya reassured, calling on bitter (literally; those things tasted awful) experience.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Grub. Stop worrying."

"But—"

"_Stop._"

"Fine," Grub sulked.

Then, after a pause: "Arnica."

"Ugh!"

* * *

Vinyáya was going to have to talk to Grub about what the cutoff for "some people" was, because he'd certainly passed it. Her house was packed, the party spilling to the front and back yards, only the bedrooms considered sacred (and those filled with coats). Luckily, he'd dubbed it a potluck, so now the house at least had food. Even if it was 50 varieties of chips, two dips, and enough soda to kill off every diabetic in Haven.

Vinyáya had stolen the tequila. Plus all the cut limes and the salt shaker. She considered that a fair trade for not giving him the talk now, in front of everyone.

She and Holly shared the bottle, swinging gently on Yarrow's backyard playset, their legs dragging on the ground and sending them into erratic sideways swings. They were sufficiently sozzled to feel good, but not so much as to make asses of themselves or draw too much attention. Vinyáya had been mobbed by fairies on arrival, forced to show off the ring every 4.56 seconds (for a while, she just held her arm out, but it eventually got tired), but now everyone was, blessedly, giving the future bride some space.

"Don't be offended," Holly said after finishing another half-shot, "but I never thought _you_ would get _married._"

Vinyáya set herself up and let go. Tequila, salt, lime. A lovely burn. She tossed the bottle back to Holly, who caught it without even seeming to look, hand shooting sideways to grip the neck. High alcohol tolerance, that girl. "Personally, never thought I would, either."

"Well, _lucky_ you," Holly smiled and tried valiantly to not look at her left hand. Not all that sober, then.

Vinyáya licked a grain of salt from the corner of her lips. "Mmm...not really."

Holly choked on her next direct-from-the-bottle swig. Wiping her hand over her mouth, she looked to Vinyáya with wide, slightly glossy eyes. "W...what? Do you _not_ want to get married?" She paused, considering why she was so absurdly _doubtful_ about the idea of not wanting to marry Grub Kelp. "You don't _have_ to. Not because he asked or because you have a kid toge—"

Vinyáya held up a hand. Once it had succeeded in silencing her subordinate, she kicked off of the ground, swinging sideways and plucking the liquor away from the major's hand. She didn't drink immediately, but let the air-temperature glass rest between her legs. "I'm not doing it because of Yarrow. Believe me, I know the law well enough. Had to defend that one a few times." She scowled at the memories. That particular Council member had, luckily, died off only a few decades after she'd been voted in. "But I did say 'yes' because he wants it."

Holly stared at Vinyáya. "Because...Grub wants it?"

Vinyáya paused. Then nodded, her hair—long since gone unruly—falling into her eyes.

Because there is nothing else to do after such a revelation, Holly leaned over and stole the tequila back, taking two large, rather painful-looking gulps. She gasped as the bottle fell away, her tongue lolling out, ears seeming to have flattened back against her head.

Vinyáya laughed. "Please don't keep doing that. Fowl will kill me if you get liver disease."

"Well, you just...and...wuzza!" Holly spluttered, the latest shots seeming to have hit all at once and quite rapidly. "I mean...I'd understand saying 'yes' if you wanted to get married, but...you _don't_, do you?"

"It doesn't mean anything to me, really."

"Doesn't...it means you're married!"

"And that means...?"

Holly blinked, mouth open, letting off some alcohol fumes. "It means...you'll be together for the rest of your lives."

"Divorce," Vinyáya pointed out.

"Well...it means you'll have a family."

Vinyáya pointed to a corner of the yard, where Duke Fleetwind was trotting in place, Yarrow squealing on his back, the centaur's filly, pixie, and foals standing by and laughing.

"Then...I don't know!" Holly threw her hands in the air, tequila bottle shooting out of her grip.

Vinyáya caught it on it's return to earth, just before it hit the grass.

"So...what, did Grub not think you'd stay together?"

Vinyáya didn't even need to think before she shook her head.

"Then..._why?_"

Vinyáya considered.

"Hopeless romantic?"

Holly looked ill at that concept of Grub. And how it didn't apply to other men.

"I'm sure your mud-elf has it on his mind," Vinyáya soothed, though Holly's look said she really didn't take to the soothing. "And...in the meantime, you can still be in a wedding."

Holly looked a bit wary. "What do you mean?"

"Well, when it comes down to it, I really can't think of anyone else I'd rather have as my slave." Vinyáya paused. "I mean 'Maid of Honor'."

Holly leaned back, stunned. Then, ears seeming to perk back up, she smiled. "Yes! Of course!"

Vinyáya grinned. Evilly.

Holly's smile faltered. Her inebriated mind worked. Slowly. Slowly. Processing...

Bing!

"D'arvit," Holly gasped. "Do I have to wear a _dress?"_

Vinyáya smirked.

Across the yard, Fowl tilted his head and raised a glass to the future bride.

* * *

"I can't believe you," he hissed, tears already escaping his eyes and falling down his cheeks. "You...you never even thought...never considered_ me_..._you!"_

Vinyáya held out her hands, trying to still his rage. "Wait, listen, there's a reason—"

"I thought we _meant_ something!" He backed away, shaking his head, covering his watering eyes with a hand. "Then you pass me up for...for..._that?_ What _am_ I to you!"

"Just let me explain—"

He sobbed. "Did you think I'd be _okay_ with this?"

"_Duke!"_ Vinyáya shouted. "You can't be a bridesmaid! _You're marrying us!"_

Duke Fleetwind hiccoughed.

He lowered his hand. "You...you mean...?"

"We want you to officiate," Vinyáya confirmed. "And you can't very well do that _and_ be in the bridal party."

Duke dug a hoof into the ground, flanks still tense as he considered. "I...I suppose..."

Vinyáya did not ease. She knew something just as devastating as his breakdown was waiting on the horizon.

"...Can I at least have one of the dresses?"

"_No_," Vinyáya said flatly. "It would make your ass look _enormous_."

Duke turned his back to examine his generous equine rump. "Awwwww..."

* * *

"Okay," Grub said in his most authoritative voice, laying his data tablet on the kitchen table, directly between himself and his bride. "I'm sure you don't want a big wedding, and that's fine. We can do a city hall thing. We should still have friends over after, a little catering. We might be able to fit everyone in the house like we did after the proposal. Not very expensive, quick to plan." He laughed. "I bet we could do this in just a few weeks, if we want to hurry!"

Vinyáya buried her face in her hands, moaning.

Grub stared at her, alarmed. "A...Arnica?"

"Grub...who am I?"

He wilted. "V...Vinyaya..."

"Not _that_," she said, irritably. "Who am I?"

"Um..." Grub blinked. Then beamed. "My fiance!"

Vinyáya sighed. "No...try again."

"Um...you're...Arnica?" Grub tried once more, very much feeling like he was disappointing her by not catching on.

"I'm..._Wing Commander_ Vinyáya." She groaned, rubbing at her face. "And _Councilwoman_ Vinyáya Grub. I...gods, I hate to say this, but if we go off and have this..._little_ wedding thing, there is going to be a...political shitstorm of epic proportions."

"So...what...does that mean?" Grub fidgeted, looking down at his tablet and back up at his future wife.

"It's...it's going to have to be...big." She winced.

Grub bit his lip. "How...big?"

Vinyáya was silent for a half-minute.

"..._Big."_

Grub let out a long, loud breath.

He thrust his hands into the air. "YES!"

* * *

"Okay, there's finding catering." Grub said, looking down yet another document, this one full of wedding to-dos.

"That's your job," Vinyáya returned. She had hoped for a nice, relaxing date together, and dinner _had_ been nice, but once they were out of the restaurant and slowly walking through downtown Haven as they waited for seating at the playhouse to begin, the tablet came out and it was back to nuptial nonsense.

"Okay." Grub flicked his finger to the left, moving the task into his column of duties. "Hiring a photographer."

"Your job," Vinyáya said again.

Another flick. "Venue."

"Ven...you," Vinyáya shot her fingers at Grub.

He rolled his eyes. "How about invitations?"

"Mmmmmmm-yoooooooou," the woman drawled.

Grub stopped walking, Vinyáya doing so as well, and the pair faced each other. Grub crossed his arms, scowling. "Are you going to do _anything_, Arnica? Besides going to a _dress fitting?_"

She looked to the ceiling of Haven. "Actually..."

Grub huffed. If he'd had even a single percentage of Goblin blood, fire would have shot from his nose.

"Oh, fine," Vinyáya grumbled, turning and beginning to walk back down the street. "Besides, if you were the model, I'd never fit in at the chest-region."

"Yeah," Grub shot after her. "Or the _ass."_

_ "Oh!"_ Vinyáya stopped walking, turning to glare over her shoulder. "You...you...oh!" Clenching her fists, she stormed down the sidewalk. Grub was wise enough to give her a few minutes to fume before he caught up completely and tried to split their chores again. As could be expected, he was still left with the brunt of the work.

Secretly, he was giddy.

* * *

"You two should get married where Manfed and I went," Hibiscus suggested, picking her tea bag up by the string, jerking it to drain the last of the water. "Very classy. In _Atlantis_."

Vinyáya continued to sip her tea some extra moments, thrown off. The wedding hadn't even been brought up through this entirely awkward girl's lunch that Brenner had invited her to. Then _wham_. Swallowing, she set her cup down. "I don't know...Atlantis? Just about the entire guest list lives in Haven."

"So going there will mean fewer people come along, so smaller wedding, and cheaper! Plus, Atlantis is a _wonderful_ honeymoon spot." Hibiscus's eyes went soft and distant.

Vinyáya's skin crawled. "I think you're underestimating the guests." And Grub's superstitious side, she thought, eyes falling briefly on the woman's old engagement ring, which now adorned the divorcees right hand instead of left. Compared to Vinyáya's ring, the rock was huge. Personally, Vinyáya was glad Grub couldn't afford much better in terms of jewels. She still felt conspicuous with this addition to her hand. Even strangers—having learned of the engagement on the news—seemed to think it their privilege to demand to see the gem. She half-expected her opponents on her next Section 8 mission to ask for a break in fighting to check out the rock.

"Well, it can accommodate quite a few people, really."

"Three hundred?" Vinyáya asked.

Hibiscus choked on her tea. "Three...you invited three_ hundred people?"_

"No," Vinyáya laughed, waiting for Hibiscus to ease. "We invited six hundred. We're expecting at least three hundred declines."

She savored Hibiscus's horror. It was delicious.

* * *

Holly came out of the dressing room, awkwardly wearing an off-the-shoulder eggshell-blue taffeta gown.

She was immediately blinded by a bright light.

"Ah! D'arvit! What the...Vinyáya?"

"Yes?" The Wing Commander said casually.

"What are you doing?"

"Pics," she answered, holding the camera out to show the latest image.

Holly scowled. "What, does Grub need references or something?"

The older woman laughed. "No, no. These are for Artemis."

Holly's mouth sagged. "For...what? _Why?_"

"He offered me a tenth-an-ounce of gold for every different dress I got a picture of you in."

Holly looked shocked at the generous pay. Then irritated. "Doesn't that make you feel..._dirty?_"

Vinyáya laughed once more. "I'm planning a three-hundred-person wedding. It makes me feel financially solvent. Now, try on the green one. And could you pout a little when you come out? Yeah...just like that. Beauuuuutiful." Click.

* * *

Vinyáya was highly impressed by Grub's organizational skills. As expected, he had taken on the brunt of planning, filling their house with brochures and swatches and color pallets, only consulting her for veto power, which she'd never exercised. Once enough government officials got involved, he had the headache of also coordinating with city security. However, being that most of the security personnel were members of Traffic, he was able to use a few of his paid work hours to plan. And, luckily, the LEPs dress greens didn't clash too bad with the blue and silver color scheme. Now only two major decisions were left: the bridal gown (beyond Grub's power, and the only part of the wedding he wouldn't say a word on, to Vinyáya's frustration) and picking the caterer.

And there was a _fight_ in Haven over that contract. A bidding war had begun among the few companies that could handle the guest load. There was simple logic to this: every detail of the wedding was going to be analyzed by the press, and the company that could brag about covering the biggest wedding of the decade would be the hottest caterer among the people for years to come.

So here Vinyáya was, sitting at a table in downtown Haven, taking the smallest taste of each of the dishes brought out by four of Haven's hottest restaurants. It was perhaps the most emotionally fraught dinner since they'd told Hibiscus about the pregnancy. But at least they weren't _her_ emotions being twisted.

"Needs saffron," Grub muttered, swallowing with an expression that seemed to say doing so was a favor to the chef, taking a note on his tablet. A big red note.

On the sidelines, a petite demoness squeaked, eyes watering, the three other chefs smirking, even though they'd suffered similar commentary.

Vinyáya wasn't too great at empathy, but she found herself glaring at the man on behalf of the demoness. So did the rest of the table—immediate family and a few close friends.

"Grub," Trouble rumbled, "it's _fine."_

Grub sniffed. "It needs _saffron."_

"So suggest they add saffron," Lili Frond said reasonably. Vinyáya—as was usual—suffered a brief flash of heat as the princess spoke, but it was quickly stamped out. It had taken a few years and Trouble's aid to get Grub and Lili back on friendly terms, and Vinyáya was just on the tail end of that adjustment. There had been a few fights, initially, but she and the royal were on good terms. Not bridal party terms, though. Vinyáya was nowhere near that tolerant.

"The chef should _know_ that this rice needs saffron _already._ It's _rice_. It's a common dish. She should know how to cook it _adequately_."

"The way you're carrying on," Duke said, overly casual, "you'd think _you_ want to cook the reception dinner."

Vinyáya laughed. That sounded _just_ like Grub. She looked at him.

Grub pouted.

She stopped laughing. "_No._"

"Not _everything!_" Grub protested, snapping his digi-pen onto the table. "Just the main dish. A side, _maybe_."

"_No."_

"I'd hire one of the chef's to assist—"

"_NO!"_

Grub whimpered, twisting his napkin.

The demoness literally roared when she got the job.

* * *

"Mommy! Auntie Holly! Look!"

Yarrow burst out of the dressing room, and she appeared to be in the process of being devoured by a blue tulle lion. Which was apparently her proper state of being, as she giggled and spun, the layers of the dress already so overloaded that they didn't float even an inch.

Holly turned a look on Vinyáya which could only be described as "pants-shitting horror."

Vinyáya sent her child as maternal a smile as she could muster, but it was still phenomenally pained. "Oh..._wow._ Where...did you find that?" She had a hard time turning around, as she herself was bedecked in a ludicrous gold dress with possibly just as much tulle as her daughter's garment. Though, thankfully, not as much _proportionally_.

"The nice lady up front said I should try it on," Yarrow replied, pointing out her mentor, who stood serenely, awaiting her commission. In a very loud, but throaty voice, Yarrow said, "It's a _secret._"

"Oh...really." Vinyáya made her face go blank. It would not do to let the girl see her mother indulging in pure evil. No, she could wait for Holly to take the girl outside for a few minutes.

"I want to wear it at the wedding! Can I wear it at the wedding? Huh? Can I?" She bounced, hands clasped before her, supplicating. Lower lip trembling. Eyes shining. Utterly pathetic, and something Vinyáya could almost never deny.

She got that from her father.

"Looks cumbersome," Holly commented, stepping in front of the girl. She held a hand out, palm down at about Yarrow's chin height. "Kick."

The young elf complied immediately. Or tried to. Surrounded by dress, her kick missed Holly's hand by a full inch. (Holly..._might_ have lifted her hand at the last second..._maybe._)

Yarrow glared at the hem of the dress. "This dress su—"

"Yarrow," Vinyáya interrupted, voice dropping an octave.

Looking a little fearful, the girl closed her mouth so tight her cheeks briefly puffed out. She muttered something about her uncle.

Uncle Tub was going to get a talking-to _very_ soon.

* * *

Grub looked to be having a panic attack at the dining room table.

So, nothing new, really.

Still, as mate and future wife, Vinyáya couldn't shirk her duties _all_ the time. There was some moral obligation to find out what the problem was, so she handed off the game controller to Yarrow, told her to keep the escort group from being zombie-fied, and went to see what was the matter.

"We can't afford this," the male gasped, pulling out a good deal of hair. "No way. No way in hell. Even with the city covering security. Noooooo way." He keened. "And we've already got all the RSVPs! And you don't have a dress! And...oh, gods, I'm going to be sick."

Vinyáya chewed the inside of her cheek and went to stand behind his chair, inspecting the screen. Looking for the final number.

She blinked. She checked again.

"What. That's all?"

"That's _all?_" Grub shrieked, turning in his chair to look upon his bride, eyes so wild they were reduced to whites with small black pinpricks. "That is _three years_ of my salary, _minimum._ Pre-tax! Vinyáya, we can't afford this wedding."

Vinyáya quirked a brow. She tried to pull up the number she'd last seen on the account dedicated to her Section 8 pay. It had been a few years since she bothered looking, but she was pretty sure it was a good bit over what the spreadsheet was demanding. "I've got it. Don't worry." She patted Grub's shoulder, mentally going over the procedures for getting that money into her regular bank account without tipping off Section 8's existence to the People.

He boggled. "You've...no way. I don't care if the house is paid off. No way you've got that much money."

"Grub. I have two very good jobs. I get paid, frankly, maybe more than I deserve." When he was about to protest—either about her worth or again about the wedding cost—she continued in a slightly louder voice. "_And_ I'm a _lot_ older than you, so I've had time to build up my accounts. And the house has been paid off for a while. _I've got it._"

"I...you...maybe, but..." Grub shrunk in his seat. "What do _I_ do?"

"The planning," Vinyáya said firmly. "I can't do that. No time." When he didn't perk up again, she ran a hand through his hair, settling it back into a reasonable shape, ending with her fingers gently scratching the back of his neck. "That's part of being married right? What you can't do, I can, and what I can't do, you can? That way everything gets done."

"M...maybe," Grub looked down at his tablet, pushing the pen with his index fingers. "Just...d'arvit," he whispered in case his daughter could hear (Trouble was still in...well, you know), "it's...emasculating."

Vinyáya laughed, leaning in to barely breath in her lover's ear. "Well...if that's the problem, I know how to re-masculate you...if you want."

The pen jumped off the table and rolled next to one of the kitchen counters.

"Back off, zombie scum!" Yarrow screamed from the living room, accompanied by the blast of gunfire.

Grub frowned, opening his mouth and turning to shout a reprimand.

Vinyáya dragged her tongue up the shell of Grub's ear, cutting him off. "Grub...the mission only lasts fifteen minutes...but you _do_ know what I can do in fifteen minutes...right?"

Oh. Grub most certainly did.

* * *

"So...how many dresses have you tried?" Grub asked, keeping pace beside Vinyáya on his left side. Further to his left, Holly Short was walking arm-in-arm with Artemis Fowl, the quartet out on one of their rare and somewhat awkward double-dates. If not for Holly's position as maid of Honor, he doubted Fowl would submit to such social activities.

"Like...a _thousand_," Vinyáya grunted.

Grub was about to point out that impossibility, but Holly beat him to it. "No, not _that _many." She was silent for a beat. "Three hundred, tops."

"I highly doubt that many wedding dresses exist in Haven," Artemis pointed out. "With a population of fifteen thousand, half female—assuming an equal exchange rate of crossdressing for nuptials—and maybe point five percent of the population marrying in a year, and thus only half of that point five need a dress, it comes out to—"

Holly elbowed her lover in the ribs.

He glared at her.

She glared right back.

"I never thought _this_ would be an issue," Grub said. "Venue, yeah. Food, totally. Flowers, _maybe_. But _you_ can't find the _perfect_ dress?" He laughed.

"I'd wear a potato sack if I thought I could get away with it."

Grub winced.

"There's always LEP dress greens," Holly pointed out.

Grub began to pale.

"Both of you in greens?" Artemis said, all too casual. "Somewhat...over-masculine."

Vinyáya chewed her lip, thinking of how it would look. "Yeah...it does really flatten out my chest."

Artemis's eye flashed to Holly and she scowled, yanking away from him so she could cross both arms over her... "conservative" bosom.

"I'd half look like a guy. And I think your mother would die."

"That's it!" Grub snapped his fingers, all horror gone.

Vinyáya blinked and looked to Grub. "What? We're finally going to kill your mother?" She grinned.

"No! She'll help you find the dress!"

"Uh...no," Vinyáya monotoned.

"Uh..._yes_." Grub beamed. "She started out as the network's fashion writer! She'll know just what to do." He was already reaching into his pocket, retrieving a phone.

"I'm _not_ shopping with your _mother_." Vinyáya snatched the phone from Grub, leaving him staring at his fingers for several seconds.

He looked at her, scowling. "Why not?"

Vinyáya wanted to scream. _Why not?_

She restrained herself.

"I'm not a shopper," Vinyáya muttered.

Grub snorted. "Vinyáya. We share a closet. I call bullshit." He reached for his phone, which was jerked out of reach once more. "_Vinyáya._ I'm just asking you to spend an hour or two with her. Is that so bad?"

Vinyáya opened her mouth, but managed to snap it shut before answering. Her teeth ground painfully. "Do I _have_ to?"

"Well...no," Grub said, looking at the ground. "I'd just...like you to."

Vinyáya stared at him.

She looked at Holly as she shoved the phone back in the man's hand. "I'm compromising. _Why_ am I compromising?"

Holly looked speculative. "You know, I've done that, myself. I..._think_...we made the grave error of being straight."

"_Eureka!_" Vinyáya threw her hands in the air. "Problem solved! Major?" She took an extra step out of the group, her arm held out.

Throwing her head high in the air, Holly joined the other female elf, lacing their fingers together and striding off, leaving the men to look after, dumbfounded.

After a half-minute, during which time he had not made any move to call Hibiscus, Grub turned to glare at Artemis. "Stop thinking of my fiance like that!"

"Stop thinking of Holly that way, and I'll return the favor," Artemis murmured.

Grub glared a bit more.

Then he stomped after the women, composing an e-mail to his mother, hoping that would help the situation at least a little bit.

* * *

Vinyáya. Was going. To slap a bitch.

Hibiscus let go of Vinyáya's chin, which she had been turning this way and that, and began circling the woman, looking her up and down.

Vinyáya wanted to suggest she just open her mouth and check out her fiance's teeth while she was at it, but she settled on pressing her lips tight and looking straight ahead. The only other people in the dress shop were two attendants, Holly, and Yarrow, and it was only the last person that kept the councilwoman in check. She had to set a good example. Yarrow was young. She did not need to get the idea that matricide was acceptable.

At least not until she could fight properly.

"Okay...I'm thinking...loose up-do," Hibiscus began, rooting in her purse and producing a pack of silver hair pins, which she began using to gather Vinyáya's long hair, placing most of it high on her head and leaving the ends to trail down into the woman's face and onto her shoulders. She flitted away once the impromptu-do was reasonably stable, coming back with a set of ornaments with far too many crystals for Vinyáya's tastes. "A nice comb in the back, some chandelier ear rings...matching necklace..."

Vinyáya scowled at the necklace, as it was the only piece she could easily see. The ornament (in the shape of outspread wings) rested just at the swell of her breasts. It was palm-sized moonstone and clear crystal monstrosity. "I don't—"

"One minute dear," Hibiscus broke in, darting to a wall covered in shoes and tapping her own high heels for a few seconds before snatching a pair up and heading back. "Grub is only a little taller than you, so I'm afraid it's flats. There is just _something_ about taller men." She smiled dreamily, dropping to her knees and somehow managing to get Vinyáya's feet into the slippers without getting kicked in the teeth. Popping up, hands on hips, she again looked Vinyáya up and down. "Size six? Tops...and speaking of, what _is_ your bra size? You'd think you were still nursing. Those were not that big when we met."

Vinyáya could feel her cheeks reddening. To one side, Holly tried not to laugh, while Yarrow just looked puzzled.

"Wide hips—thank goodness you've got the bust to match, hmm?—and...will you be in white, green or gold?" Any of the three was common among fairies: white thanks to all those Mud Men movies, green for nature, and gold due to the general obsession with the metal. Some brides from up on the Hill even demanded real gold be sewn into their dresses. Then complained about the weight. "I think white suits your complexion best."

"I...whatever," Vinyáya managed, feeling as if she was in the eye of a tornado.

"Excellent!" Hibiscus clapped her hands. "I'm thinking plain, low cut, thin sleeves. Short train, if any. Do you have something like that?" The last was said to the attendants, who looked at each other, about as off-kilter as their client. "Oh, never mind, I'll just browse a bit, hmmm? Miss Short, if you'd get her into the underthings?" And she was off.

Holly and Vinyáya stared at one another. Then, making sure Yarrow was settled in for a short sit on her own, they went into the changing room and got to work.

"Know who she reminds me of?" Vinyáya said in a low voice, mindful of the nearby ears. She braced her arms against a wall as Holly did up the bra's roughly one thousand hooks. She wasn't entirely sure such a garment as "the bridal gown bra" could even be classed among bras. It seemed just a few strings short of a corset. In fact, she thought a corset might be more comfortable, and the shop had several on display.

"Um...Lili?"

Vinyáya snorted. "Hardly. Nan Burdeh. A bit before your time."

Holly leaned in so she could whisper, "Section 8?"

"Ah, you remember." Vinyáya nodded, then winced as her boobs were crushed. "Nan. Was. Loaded. Opal has nothing on that woman. So, whenever she needed something done, she just got started and trusted her money could get things finished."

"Sounds kind of annoying."

Vinyáya shrugged. "It was. Especially when you realized it _worked_. But, I swear, she could talk that fast when she had a lot to do. Aaaaaaand she generally did."

"Well, a wedding as big as yours? Might be easier to found Section 8."

"Sometimes I won-dah!" Vinyáya jumped back from the curtain as it was torn aside, a dress shoved in her face.

"Try it on!" Hibiscus practically squealed. "DON'T LOOK AT IT!" And she was gone once more, though she could be heard chatting with her granddaughter.

Vinyáya didn't move, so Holly took the dress and began to force her boss in.

"Just. Like. Nan."

Holly chuckled.

"This was a terrible idea," Vinyáya said, once more whispering so no one else could hear. "She's just going to do this over and over for _hours_, until I choke her with a—"

"Veil!" A single layer of silver tulle was tossed over the curtain bar, nearly hitting Vinyáya in the nose before Holly's hand shot out and snatched it from the air.

"D'arvit, _horrible_ idea," Vinyáya continued, performing a "lift and tuck" on Holly's direction as the woman affixed the veil. "I'm going to kill my fiance's mother. That's a deal-breaker, right? It feels like a deal-breaker."

"Ready!" Holly called out, ignoring her boss in favor of pulling the curtain back and shoving her out of the changing room and onto a raised platform before a semi-circle of mirrors.

Vinyáya turned to give Holly a perfect glare.

Holly went from lips-twisted smugness to open-mouthed...what?

Vinyáya slowly turned to the mirrors.

No gasp. No tears. No squealing that it was just _perfect!_ But...it was.

The dress followed her body's shape closely, but it wasn't so tight as to make things strain against the fabric. The neckline was low and flat, covering her up just to the shadow of cleavage ("Sabrina," one of the attendants later said, confusing everyone but Hibiscus), connecting to plain lace cap-sleeves, which settled almost entirely off of her shoulders. When she stood straight, the unadorned skirt was just a breath away from touching her legs, but any shift brought them into a smooth, cool contact. The train was short, but gave Vinyáya just enough freedom for a natural stride. It would need to be ripped up the side if there was an attack—unlikely, but not impossible, and Vinyáya thought it would be the most badass-looking fight of her life—but the material felt so soft and smooth that she was sure it could be torn easily. Even accidentally.

Hesitating at first, Vinyáya turned her head, looking to Hibiscus.

The woman stood silent, a few feet away, hands clasped at her waist. As composed as her body was, her eyes had a definite shine.

"It...thank you," Vinyáya finally managed, forcing out a small but genuine smile.

"Oh..." Hibiscus waved at the air. "You probably tried this one on before. You just needed the full effect to really _get it._"

Vinyáya looked back into the mirror, heart doing strange things. She got it.

"After all," Hibiscus went on, "us Kelp women have to stick together!"

Vinyáya swallowed. "R...right."

* * *

Vinyáya didn't really see the point of a rehearsal dinner (nor a rehearsal, since Duke had been forcing everyone to go through their parts whenever he saw them), and Grub was still too shocked over the cost of a wedding to add on a few more ounces of gold, so the day before the wedding was very...casual. Not calm, of course. But as much as could be managed, after fifteen final go-throughs of the checklist. Grub had even managed to concede that the venue might not explode from all the impending fail. This had more to do with Vinyáya threatening to flush his tablet down the recycling lounge than his true feelings, though.

Light breakfast. Simple sandwiches for lunch. Lots of little games with Yarrow (who kicked some serious ass at Candyland). Grub was just getting things out for dinner when the doorbell rang. He made the terrible decision of answering the door himself.

A strong, uncompromising arm wrapped about his neck, yanking him outside with a "HURK!"

"We're taking your man!" His captor roared at the house's remaining occupants.

Vinyáya popped her head into the hall, briefly surveying the enemies.

"Just don't show up on the news," she advised. "I'd rather not know."

Trouble saluted with his left hand, his right too busy clamping Grub's mouth closed. "Mom's on it."

Vinyáya nodded briskly and disappeared, leaving Grub to his fate.

The groom reached out after her, fingers stretching and grabbing, eyes watering. Then the front door was slammed shut and the gaggle of guys pulled the bachelor down the front walkway, fist bumping one another and handing a bottle of _very_ strong smelling booze around.

Most of the liquor had already been drunk, but Grub was forced to imbibe the last bits, so he was rather wobbly by the time they were downtown and entering one of the many restaurants. Not too fancy, and not Spud's. Just respectable enough to satisfy the most discriminating guest in the group, who was waiting in the lounge area, rising when the dozen men entered.

"Lili," Trouble growled, abandoning his brother to stride forward and wrap his arm about her waist, spinning so she gasped and laughed, as if they hadn't seen each other in weeks, instead of hours. When he stopped the spin, setting her to the ground, the two eves looked at one another with the wicked glint of familiar conspirators.

Trouble leaned down just a little, practically purring into the woman's ears. "I can't take it, Tiger Lily. _Please._ I _need_ you to do that thing with your mouth that I _love._"

Grub eyes widened in shock. When had _this_ happened?

Lili seemed just as confused. She opened her mouth, as if to protest, but Grub could swear he saw the little light go on in her brain. It seemed even more likely that there was _literally_ a light in there, as Lili's face seemed to glow, her lips curving, eyes going soft, cheeks getting the tiniest dimple as she gave Trouble her best smile.

"That's riiiiiiiight," he rumbled, all too smug. After a few seconds basking, the Commander took his arms from about Lili's waist, though just moving one to her shoulders so the other could wave the party in.

Grub gave them both an inquisitive look as he was herded by, but neither gave him the tiniest clue.

* * *

Grub got a little worried when his brother ordered dinner for everyone, as it was pretty much bread and pasta, along with big glasses of water. He could already feel tomorrow's hangover.

Grub felt fairly awkward with the men, loud drunks all, though a good number of them were some of his coworkers from Traffic. His brother might have helped ease the tension, if he weren't fawning over Lili and making her giggle like he somehow knew how to tickle her without even touching and _seriously_, what was going on there? Was this just how they acted? Because the rest of the men—most importantly Vein and Chix, there more as Trouble's friend's than Grub's, and vocal suitors of the Frond—weren't batting an eye. Artemis Fowl, also along for the night, though the most quiet attendee, just shrugged when asked, going back to sipping some terribly expensive wine, instead of the beer and hard liquor everyone else was gulping.

They left the restaurant with Grub no wiser, walking through the downtown streets in search of good clubs. "I wouldn't ask if it was _obvious_, Fowl, so just tell—"

In an oddly comical moment, Artemis—and the rest of the men—stopped walking, jaws sagging open. When Grub stared at Artemis a bit too long, booze making him slow, the Irish elf grabbed Grub's shoulder and forced him to turn around.

They had come to a crosswalk, and nearly collided with a group of women, almost all cheering and passing around a bottle. At the head...

Grub blinked, looking up a little. "Um...Vinyaya...is that a—"

"Do not. Finish. That sentence."

On her forehead, something bobbed. But for being matte-black, it was...quite anatomically correct."

The men gaped.

The women stared back.

Simultaneously, the bachelorette party extended middle fingers, jeered, and then pushed Vinyáya forward, running off to find a section of downtown with a few less men.

The bachelor party watched them go.

Trouble was the first to turn away, and he did so in order to glare at his brother. "After _that_, if you say _anything_ about tonight being 'inappropriate,' I get to flick your ears."

Despite himself, Grub nodded.

"Dude," Chix laughed. "Did you catch the bib?" He elbowed Vein.

Vein was the only party member who seemed disturbed. "Did...did that say 'co—"

Grub smacked Vein upside the head. That was _his_ bride he was talking about!

Here was a long, tense moment as Vein bared his teeth, wings extended.

Then the rest of the men roared, smacking Grub on the back and going forth to discover hitherto untapped reserves of liquor to fuck his shit up.

* * *

Grub would never tell what happened that night. Nothing Vinyáya would leave him for! But...oh, there would be fights. Though probably Trouble would be the one getting most of the punishment.

Though, really, the commander was being punished enough, as he was currently in the recycling lounge of his apartment complex, getting rid of some rather fine tequila. Grub decided he'd stumble his drunk ass downstairs to check on him if he didn't get a call or text in a few minutes.

Before he could do that, however, there was a tap on Trouble's living room window.

Grub stared at the curtain-covered window a moment. Then he turned to look at the couch arm next to him, where Shirley was grooming the smell of booze breath from her fur, having been hugged against her will.

"Um...did you hear that?"

Before the creature had a chance to unleash her scorn, the window rattled again. This time with quite a bit more force.

"I...I'll get it," Grub mumbled, swaying towards the window. He grabbed the curtains for support and yanked them aside.

Grub shrieked like a preteen backstage with a boy band.

Vinyáya leaned back from the window a little, eyes wide. Then she seemed to remember her goal, slapping the window and shouting something that failed to get through the soundproof panes. Though not for want of trying.

"Uh...uh...right!" Grub fumbled with the latch for several seconds before it seemed to pop open of its own accord, sliding back and slamming the opposite side of the frame so loudly Shirley yowled and fled, tail puffed.

"Thank Frond. My hands were cramping." Vinyáya swung her legs through the window, sitting on the frame and massaging her palms.

"Ah...Arnica, how did—"

"We need to talk," the woman said quickly.

Grub blinked at her. Then he shook his head, rebooting. "Arnica, there's no balcony."

"It's really important," Vinyáya went on, abandoning her hand work to focus on him.

He blinked once more. "How did you get up here?"

"And I know there's that entire thing on not seeing each other before the wedding, but it can't wait until after. We need to discuss this _now_."

"_Arnica,_" Grub shouted, clamping his hands on her shoulders. "There is no balcony. _How did you get up here?_"

Vinyáya paused.

She scowled.

"Can we please stay on topic? That's not important right now."

"_We're on the eighteenth floor!_"

Vinyáya raised a brow. "Yeah...and?"

Grub's mouth flapped a bit.

Sighing, he hung his head, giving up. "What is it?"

Vinyáya chewed her lip. "Well...I...want to ask...the thing is...I want us to..."

She told him.

Grub was silent for a long, long time.

"Mother is not going to like this," he finally managed.

"You always say that as if it's _not_ a perk."

Grub laughed, and the only reason neither was put off by the other's breath was that they were both on the slow come-down of a significant drunk.

When the laughing stopped, Grub studied his mate. She was watching him as well, hands clenching the window frame, making part of her nails go red and the rest white.

Grub sighed so deeply that his entire body seemed to deflate. "I...yes. Yes! I'm honestly surprised you didn't suggest it when I proposed."

Vinyáya smiled and—though Grub would never say it, to help avoid a fight—Lili Frond had nothing on that level of joy. She leaned in, catching his lips, breathing words around them. "Thank you."

Both elves had to pull away quickly, or else give in to some risky (and awesome) behavior. They looked at each other hungrily for a little longer before Vinyáya groaned, lifting one leg and then another out of the window, holding herself up with strong forearms. "Tomorrow, Grub," she promised, getting one last kiss before she lowered herself out of sight.

Grub squeaked, leaning forward to look down and out of the window. Already Vinyáya was a good five feet below, somehow finding purchase on the smooth exterior of the apartment complex. Far below, cars honked at one another, irate over the eternal downtown traffic.

Vinyáya paused. Then she looked up, scowling. "Do you mind? You're distracting me."

"Oh!" Grub pulled back from the window, a little ashamed.

About fifteen second later, he had just about bit through his lips and wrung his hands off. He leaned forward once more, looking down.

Vinyáya was nowhere to be seen.

He examined the ground, heart pounding, but nothing. Not a trace.

Grub stood there for several minutes.

Then, with nothing else to do, he slid the window closed and staggered into Trouble's bedroom, locking the door. Big brother could sleep on the couch. Grub needed a good night's sleep.

Tomorrow...was a big day.

* * *

**Preview: "And I don't wanna wait, I just wanna know,/ I just wanna hear you tell me so./ Give it to me straight, tell it to me slow..."**

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**Okay, everyone, here's the situation: The last two chapters are written and edited, just need one final read-through before I can post. So I can conceivably get them both out in just a few hours. BUT...smut...is only **_**handwritten**_**, for the moment. I'm working hard on getting those done, but it's still going to take a few days. And you all are pretty obviously going to break 1000 reviews (unless you get lazy). So, two options for you:**

**1) I post the final two chapters in the next day or two and then power through the smut and get those up as quick as possible.**

**2) I delay the release of the final 2 chapters a few extra days, and only start putting them out when all the smut is ready for release (my promise was to post once 1000 reviews were made AND the story was done).**

**The smut reward IS HAPPENING.****Like I said, all written, just untyped. So, please choose in your review, and also give preference to which you'd like to see first, if you want option one. Remember, pairings are Artemis/Holly, Trouble/Lili (alternate universe), and Grub/Vinyaya.**


	57. Someday

**I apologize if this seems weird and archaic. I wanted to differentiate things from Western ceremonies a bit. Also, I like making shit up. I feel it turned out well.**

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**Song: "Someday" by Rob Thomas**

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**Chapter 57: Someday**

"Did you see Grub?" Vinyáya said, ducking her head as the hairdresser attacked her with another bevy of bobby pins. Perhaps an up-do had been a bad idea...

"I got a text from Artemis about five minutes ago," Holly replied, also bowing under the ministrations of a stylist, though this one had long ago given up on the woman's pixie cut and moved onto makeup. "Grub is on the verge of hyperventilating. So...all's well."

Vinyáya frowned at this, clutching at the silk-like material of her skirt. "I...am I doing the right thing?" She looked to her bridesmaid, skin gradually approaching the pure white of her dress. "I'm not doing this for the wrong reasons?"

Holly glanced across to her boss, then sighed in exasperation, shaking her head. "Only you, Vinyáya, would wonder if marrying the father of your child because you _love him_ is a 'wrong reason.' Now shut the hell up. The only words that should be coming out of your mouth are vows and 'I do.' At least until the cake comes. Cake cures insane brides, I hear."

Vinyáya smiled, though it was almost imperceptibly small, again looking ahead as she tried to quell her rising panic. Gods...what was she _doing_?

* * *

"I think I'm going to throw up."

Artemis looked blankly at the nervous elf. "Kelp...calm down." He knew the words would be ineffective, but they must be said. It was tradition.

"I mean...what if I fall or faint or say something stupid or...what if I lose the ring!"

Grub's eyes widened in alarm at that last one. "Trouble, you had _better_ not lose the ring."

In response, Trouble fished a thin gold band out of his jacket pocket and stared at it. He gave a small sigh of relief, then seemed to grow so tense that even his black tux became rigid. "You take it, Artemis." He tried to hand it over to the very young elf, who just scowled.

"The only reason I am in this party is because of Holly. _You_ are the Best Man. Deal with it."

Trouble swallowed and shook his head. "But...my little bro...I don't want to screw up!"

Artemis buried his face in his palm. "I swear, it doesn't take a genius." He snatched the ring from Trouble, opening the man's jacket and tucking it into the small inside pocket. "There. Now just leave it alone. When Grub says walk, you walk. And, so help me Frond, if you don't shut up I will post the recording of you blubbering in the bathroom at the bachelor party on the LEP website."

Trouble looked at Artemis in utter terror. "You...recorded that?"

"Of course!" Artemis snapped, though he was also smirking a bit. "You thought I would pass up such a prime blackmailing opportunity?"

Grub looked to his brother, then Artemis, torn. On one hand, Fowl had apparently just threatened his elder brother. On the other, Trouble _had_ shut up...what to do? "Er...should I be let in on this?"

"No!" Both of the men barked. They then glared at each other and retreated to opposite ends of the vestibule.

Grub pondered this, then decided to let it drop. There was enough going on today without getting involved in more drama. Instead, he went to the door, opening it a crack so he could glance at the guests.

They were chatting, but the crowd was moving in towards the temple. Not long now...

* * *

For such a huge guest list, it was a simple affair. The only decorations in the all-purpose temple to the gods were a dozen overlapping, light blue sheer curtains at the entrance; a single dark blue band of fabric spiraling up each white marble column, and a light blue cloth covering the raised alter at the end of the cella. There weren't even any seats, leaving the late arrivals with poor views of the ceremony. The marble grew warm from the massed bodies, seeming to also take in their anticipation until, with a soft shuffle the curtains were pulled apart and the room fell silent.

Duke's hoofbeats seemed loud enough to reach the furthest corners of the temple, the swish of his long, blonde tail like a whisper in everyone's ears. He came to the event wearing nothing, this being perfectly acceptable for a centaur, and his every step showed off rippling muscles and a fine, unblemished black coat. In his arms was an enormous copy of the Book, and some of the more devout fairies briefly lowered their eyes on sight of the book, their fingers making a spiral in the air.

When he reached the end of the cella, Duke turned slowly keeping the altar at his back. Though it was decorated, it would not be needed today. He held himself there, waiting for the few whispers among the guests to die down. Then he spoke in his deepest, loudest voice.

"The gods are with us," he proclaimed, looking into the crowd and meeting the eyes of individual guests (in one case, an _actual_ god, as Cupid rarely missed weddings when someone actually dared to invite him), "and the Book is before you. Enter."

It was not a grand procession, following the simple fairy style. Trouble and Artemis entered side by side, Artemis as cool as always, Trouble's nerves only betrayed by his clenched jaw. Only a few paces behind came Grub, feeling somewhat foolish with his hair combed back and wearing such formal clothes. He managed to keep a smile on his face by catching the eyes of the many guests, nodding on occasion as he recognized people. Vinyáya's guests far outnumbered his own, but he doubted she actually _knew_ most of these people on a first name basis.

His eyes locked onto a heterochromatic pair, but not one of the two pairs he was used to. These were blue and purple, both colors in both eyes, the ring closer to the iris the more royal color. His steps faltered. He stopped smiling.

Cupid tilted his head, observing the elf.

Grub could feel his heart slowing, ready to just stop if Cupid should speak. Because he would. The god would look deep into him and yell to the crowd, "What! This is not _True Love!_ Begone from this temple!" And the crowd would join him in his cries and thrust Grub out, leaving Vinyáya to come in on her own and find no one at the end of the walk.

The crowd seemed to have noticed the standoff. There was whispering. Shuffling. At the end of the cella, the groom's party and the officiant looked at one another, their thoughts rather close to Grub's own.

Cupid quirked a brow. He seemed to be...thinking.

Grub's entire body ached to step forward. He set his jaw and glared at the God of Love.

Cupid blinked.

Then he laughed. "Well! Get up there, boy! I'm sure your bride is getting impatient!"

The congregation broke into laughter as Grub regained his grin and finished the trip at a bit faster than a dignified walk. Few couples dared invite Cupid to a wedding because...well, he was kind of a dick.

Trouble clapped Grub on the back, and the groom blew out his cheeks, feeling wobbly after that unexpected confrontation. Artemis observed the exchange with detached dignity, angling himself so he could have an eye on Duke while still being able to observe the temple entrance. The two other men followed suit.

Then...the humming began.

Then men had walked in silence. Alone. But now the temple was filled with a soft melody as every married woman in attendance let out a series of long, connected notes. They called out to the bride, the wordless song trying to tell her of the joy of her coming life with the man waiting at the end of the temple. Seeking to entice her, despite a woman's normal last-minute doubts and jitters.

The blue curtains covering the entrance were momentarily pulled back again and Holly entered, her blue dress matching the rest of the color scheme, floating about her, the uneven, overlapping layers of the skirt brushing just at her knees. When she got over being stared at by the entire temple, she looked forward. A little redness came to her cheeks.

Grub looked back at Artemis. He gave a few low laughs. The man was standing terribly straight, quite obviously unable to take his eyes off the woman.

"Dude," Trouble whispered, leaning towards Grub, "no offense, bro, but he'd better have someone else in mind as a Best Man, because I am _not_ doing this again."

"I'm sure Butler can step it," Grub replied.

Trouble frowned. "I thought married men couldn't do that."

Grub shrugged. "Think that's going to stop _him?_"

Trouble nodded, settling back into line as Holly took her place opposite him.

The humming, once a single melody, suddenly broke into dozens of parts, full of chords, counter-melodies, and welcome. All turned to the entrance.

One final time, the sheer curtains were pulled aside, this time one by one, until Vinyáya stood alone and uncovered, head high, eyes already locked on Grub.

If anyone had been watching him, they would have seen the man stand a bit taller, chest swelling, shoulders pulled back as he looked upon the bride. _His_ bride.

Her feet seemed to float across the floor, missing every uneven tile as if providence itself guided her, for she never let her gaze fall from Grub. Not even to meet eyes with Cupid, who seemed to have decided that his play was done for the evening.

Vinyáya stopped a few feet from the party, and Duke's voice finally distracted her, making her eyes leave Grub and place attention on the officiant. "Dear elf, who gives you away?"

Vinyáya froze. Duke had run everyone in the party through _their_ parts in the ceremony, but he'd rarely gone into his own. She hadn't expected this question, though, given that the centaur knew no one was walking her in. She thought. Then, somewhat hesitantly, she spoke. "The one I would be given to...I already belong to."

Duke nodded in approval. "That is certainly the best way. Approach, lady elf, for there is much to discuss."

She did, moving past Holly to stand beside Grub. She carried no flowers—a human tradition few fairies had adopted, due to the cost—so she was able to reach out with her left hand, very loosely taking hold of Grub's right. In her generation and amongst the most conservative fairies, this might have been the first time bride and groom touched. The pair were thus given a few minutes to feel one another and decide if they wanted to spend the rest of their lives touching the other.

Vinyáya wondered how that could have ever really _worked._ It took her eleven_ years_ to realize losing Grub's touch would have destroyed some part of her.

The congregation went silent as Fleetwind looked about the crowd, then between the two elves. "You asked me here today...to bless your union, but..." He shook his head. "I can not."

Both of their eyes went wide and Grub stopped breathing.

Duke let the silence stretch out a bit longer than was strictly necessary before he smiled. "For you have fought others—and occasionally each other—to make your union already blessed far beyond my abilities."

Vinyáya and Grub looked at each other, confused, but a bit less nervous. They squeezed one-another's hands, strengthening their grip, then they turned back to Duke, beseeching him for an explanation.

"Grub Kelp...Arnica Vinyáya...today you stand before the People and declare yourself tied to each other for all of your life. Normally, couples are told to not enter into the contract of marriage lightly, but with expectations of troubles and trials beyond what they could ever imagine...but these you have already faced. Your trials will undoubtedly continue, but you have already been stretched to the limits of your devotion, even before the bonds of marriage held you together. And rather than being torn asunder, you were melded together by these fires until you became what true lovers really are."

He paused, looking between the couple, who had stopped paying him full attention, turning their heads to look in each other's eyes.

Duke nodded in further approval. "Two bodies...with one soul."He reached out, grasping their free hands and bringing them together so that Grub held both of Vinyaya's hands in his cupped palms and they now faced each other.

"I know that you have already proclaimed your love to one another." Duke took a step back, letting their hands go, leaving the elves alone before the attendees. "Now...proclaim to the People what you shall be for each other until the end of your days."

Grub took a deep breath and let it out quickly, his cheeks puffing out. He looked down at Vinyáya and grinned a bit foolishly, but undeniably genuinely. "I, Grub Kelp, will be to you, Arnica Vinyáya, your unflinching supporter. I will be the strong shoulder you lean on and the open ears you speak to at the end of the day. I will be the father of your child and I will put your life and hers far in front of my own. I will be the one who keeps the light on, waiting for you to come home..." He laughed. "No matter what you've gotten yourself into, this time."

Vinyáya sighed in relief and Holly snickered at her back. Some day...he was going to regret those words.

"I will be," he went on, squeezing her hands, "the one who tells you you're are perfect...and you _are_...and the one who reminds you of your flaws...and you have them, as contrary as that sounds. I will be the one who wakes you from nightmares and the one who sends you to perfect dreams. And I will always..._always_ be your personal chef."

Vinyáya gave a small laugh, then started at the noise, for it sounded oddly choked. Suddenly, she realized she was crying. She couldn't bring herself to let go of his hands and wipe the tears away, so she instead took a deep breath to prepare herself.

"I, Arnica Vinyáya, will be to you, Grub Kelp, your strongest supporter. I will be your soft welcome home. I will be your friend and your lover and sometimes—sadly—I will be your enemy. But I will _always_ be your other half. I will be the mother of your child, and I will love her all the more because she is a part of you. I will be your inspiration and your harshest critic. I will be the one who gives you your first chance...and your last chance. I will be your true test, and I will make _sure _you pass. I will be the one who listens to you, even when no one else will stop and take the time. And I will be utterly...irrevocably yours...for the rest of our lives."

Duke nodded at these words, then looked to Grub. "You shall place the ring upon her hand and, in doing so, seal the pledge you have made to her and accept the pledge she has made to you."

Grub nodded and looked over his shoulder at Trouble.

Trouble put his hand in his trouser pockets...and seemed to turn green. He fumbled about, mouth opening, eyes widening in panic.

Artemis watched this for a bit, then pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand. With the other, he reached out and grabbed the lapel of Trouble's jacket, pulling it open.

"Oh! Right!" Trouble laughed once, the sound echoing across the congregation, and handed off the ring to his little brother.

Grub eyed Trouble for a moment (Trouble gave him an embarrassed smile, almost cringing) and took the gold band. Turning, he looked down at Vinyáya's hand, rubbing his thumb on her ring finger. Slowly, he brought her hand up and kissed the back. Then, eyes locked with Vinyáya's, he slid the ring on. "I sign in full, with the blood from my heart."

Duke addressed Vinyáya. "And you shall do the same, and remember that in doing so you accept all terms."

Holly handed over the other band, shooting Trouble a smug look. The crowd laughed a bit, making Trouble turn somewhat red.

Vinyáya didn't notice, too focused on not shaking so hard she dropped the ring. She looked at Grub's hand a long time.

Then she looked into his eyes. "I should have done this," she whispered, squeezing his fingers, "a long time ago." With that, she slid the ring on, speaking loudly, so all in the temple could hear. "I sign in full, with the blood from my heart."

Duke placed his hands around theirs, one on top and the other below, encircling them. "The People have heard the pledge you make. By the power vested in me and in accordance with the sacred laws of the Book, I now pronounce you man and wife." He let their hands go and stood back, waving at Vinyáya. "You may kiss your bride!"

Grub tugged Vinyáya towards him, grinning at her little yelp and blush. Then he curled his arm about her waist and pulled her to his chest, bending his head down and claiming her lips in a soft, long kiss, the congregation breaking into cheers around them.

When the couple finally broke apart, Grub was already a little pale. Anticipating. Vinyáya merely grinned mischievously. "Nervous?" she whispered in his ear.

He nodded. "You have no idea. I am _dead_."

She snickered. "I'll protect you."

Duke stepped forward again, laying a hand on their shoulders, turning the newlyweds to face the massed fairies. "People of Haven, I present to you Mrs. Arnica Vinyáya and Mr. Grub _Vinyáya!_"

The cheering began again, this time mixed in with laughter at Grub's somewhat sheepish expression and shrug. In the front row, Hibiscus gaped, then leaned against her date, fanning at her face.

Grub and Vinyáya glanced at each other one more time and leaned in for a quick, steadying kiss.

Then they began to walk forward.

* * *

**Preview: "We can always look back on what we did./ All these memories of you and me baby,/ but right now it's you and me forever girl,/ and you know that we can do better than anything that we did/ you know that you and me, we could do anything."**

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**Okay, consensus says finish the story ASAP and then post the smut. A/H has been typed up, anticipating G/V typed tomorrow morning. So...it's goin to be swift, people. But don't forget, I need 1000 reviews, first!**


	58. Epilogue: When the Kids Are Old Enough

**Song: "You and Me" by The Dave Matthews Band**

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**Epilogue: When the Kids Are Old Enough**

_ Grub took a deep breath. Ah well, may as well go out a hero._

_ "I can't do that."_

_ "Oh, really? And why not?"_

_ Grub drew himself up to his full height. "An LEP officer never relinquishes his weapon."_

_ Butler nodded. "Fair enough. Thought I'd ask. Off—"_

"Daaaaaaddy," Yarrow interrupted, glaring at her father from her place deep in her extra-fluffy pillows.

Grub stopped reading, the golden book he was so engrossed in drooping as he looked over it at his daughter. "Yes, honey?"

"You've read that part _ten times_." In addition to being surrounded by the soft cushions, her face was framed by a mass of silver and orange hair, the entanglement in an awkward transition between a pixie cut and chin-length, which nothing had so far been able to make glamorous or even remotely sane-looking. Despite looking less than elegant, it added in a general air of aloofness that most children do not manage to gain until puberty hit. Though that was not too far away.

Grub sat up in the slightly undersized chair (which he'd taken from her desk) next to his daughter's bed, trying to act offended. "I most certainly have not." At the girl's coming protest, he continued quickly. "_And_ if I have, it's just because it is such a good part."

"_Dad_," Yarrow said in a dignified manner, crossing her arms and looking altogether too old, though this was her intention. She had already begun asking if she could wear makeup, and the neighborhood boys were spending a bit _too_ much time around the house for her parent's comfort. "I can read my own stories, now. Seriously."

Grub's smile faltered, his chest suddenly empty. "I know, but...don't you..._want_ me to read to you at night?" He flipped through the pages. "I could get a different book. What about that one scene in the last book where—"

"No," the orange-and-silver haired elf said, quite firm in her denial. "I'm _way _too old for bedtime stories."

Grub stared at her. Then he looked down at the book, stroking the cover. "You're...right. Yes." He placed a bookmark between the pages so he could find his crowning moment again, then stood and put it back on the bookshelf. He looked across the shelves, noting that the volumes were getting thicker. Wasn't it _just_ full of picture books and easy readers? He shook his head, sighing, and crossed to the door. He paused there, looking back at his daughter. "Lights out?"

She yawned widely and nodded, laying on her side and pulling a spare pillow to her chest, curling her body around it. "Yes, Dad. Good night."

Grub looked at her for a moment longer, then clicked the light off, gently closing the door behind him.

He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, blowing air out of his cheeks so fast they puffed out briefly, and walked down the hall.

He entered the dining room, where Vinyáya sat at the table, looking at her laptop. After years dodging the measure, she was finally in reading glasses, if at a low prescription, but she was still squinting at some of the very fine print Foaly was trying to sneak past her. She was seriously considering laser eye surgery, but having a bit of a hard time trusting someone to shine a laser into her eyes. There had been...incidents along that vein that made her a bit wary. "Damn centaur..." she muttered, highlighting a line of text and making a notation about tin foil _not_ being allowed on his Section 8 budget. Then she noticed her husband and sat back in the chair, closing the laptop and taking the glasses off. "You okay?"

Grub opened his mouth to respond, then paused. He shook his head and took the seat across from his wife, folding his hands on the table. "Does it..._feel_ like twenty-five years to you?"

Vinyáya thought about this, then shook her head. "No. I've heard it never does, though."

"Yeah. Mother warned me about that, but...it seemed too far ahead to think about." He laughed just a little, but it was soft and sad. "My baby girl, all grown up."

"Oh, Grub," Vinyáya sighed, getting out of her chair and standing behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest. "She's twenty-five, not an adult. You've got decades yet."

Grub reached up and squeezed her hands. "I can recall her perfectly, running about the house in her underwear, crying incoherently..."

"...that was Tuesday."

"Oh, right. Did you ever figure out what that was?"

"Not a clue." Vinyáya smiled and kissed the top of her mate's head. "Stay there. Let me get you something warm to drink."

"Mmmm," Grub agreed, placing his own kiss on the palm of her hand and letting it go. He listened to to his lover working in the kitchen, his mind moving slowly, but inexorably towards a scary, exciting question.

"Do you ever think..." he began, focusing on his hands as he directed his words at her, "that you would...like...like to have another one?" He said the last in a rush, squeezing his hands tight.

The kitchen went silent.

Grub sighed, hanging his head. "Yeah, I thought so. Sorry, I—"

_CLANG!_

Grub jolted, whipping his hand about to the doorway between the kitchen and dining room.

Vinyáya stood, hip resting against the counter, her toes on the foot pedal of the trash can, keeping it open. One of her arms was crossed over her chest, making her look rather stern. Yet there was a smile on her lips and her other hand held a packet of very small pills arranged in a circle, recently recovered from her purse.

Grub looked at the packet. Then into Vinyéya's eyes. His lips began to twist, and there was clear purpose in his smile.

Vinyáya dropped the pills into the trash.

Grub sprang from the chair, sweeping his wife into his arms in an instant. She shrieked, wrapping her arms around his neck as she was lifted off the ground.

"Shhh..." Grub urged, the sound joined by a low rumble in his chest, and he began carrying her down the hall towards their bedroom. "We don't want anyone hearing, do we?"

"Mmmm..." Vinyáya murmured in approval, already beginning to undo the top buttons of Grub's shirt. "It's just like back in your office at the Plaza."

Grub chuckled, easing the bedroom door closed with his foot. "Our mattress is a _lot_ more comfortable than my desk."

"Yes," Vinyáya breathed as she was set down on the bed, her arms still wrapped around Grub's neck, pulling him after her, and then holding him close. "But everyone in the LEP knows the only way to get anything done _properly_ is to place it on your desk."

"Really, now," Grub purred,resting his forehead against hers. "I'm glad I've achieved such distinction."

Gently, Vinyáya stroked his cheek. "I know something else that is said a lot at the Plaza."

"Oh? What is that?" Grub said, running his fingers up Vinyáya's leg, pushing her skirt up as he went, exposing more and more skin, which goosebumped under his touch.

She kissed him, barely brushing their lips together for a few seconds, before she breathed, "I love you, Grub."

Grub nuzzled her, their lips again lightly touching at the movement. "You say that everywhere."

"Because I never said it enough before."

"Hmmmm." Grub pulled his head back so he had a better view of the woman he had fought so hard to win. "Neither of us did. I love you, too, Vinyáya."

Vinyáya pulled Grub back down to her, melding their lips together fully, keeping their gazes locked together so they could see themselves, finally perfect, reflected in another's eyes.

**The End**

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**To everyone who stuck around to read over 330,000 words (minus some author's notes and so on) of Grub and Vinyaya in a _romance_, of all things, thank you. I'm sort of crying right now. This is easily my biggest project to day, and likely the only fanfic project I'll let get this big, but it has been entirely worth the effort. I think my skills have increased vastly over the past year and a half.**

**So, where do I go from here? Well, smut is due, obviously, and I'm going as fast as I can. There will be some fanfic still (_Fowl Ties_ and _Ma Bete Noire_ most prominently), but, for pure pleasure writing, I'm going to be putting some research and writing effort into _The Ballad of King Frond_ over the next year. That wont be released until a week before Colfer releases the last book, because I am legitimately worried about affecting his plot, because it sounds like he has a similar idea to me in some ways (you'll see in the future). **

**However, most of my writing time will be devoted to my first major, original story: _The Empire of San Francisco._ It's a steampunk novel set in 1870s San Francisco (duh). Steam-powered stallions, conniving women, albino engineers, and _exposed ankles! Gasp!_ If there's any big steampunk fans out there interested in giving some feedback of the rough draft in a few months, feel free to drop a line.**

**And, as a final note, I really encourage everyone to pull up "You and Me" by the Dave Matthews Band, to play you out of this story, and follow it up with "For You To Notice" by Dashboard Confessional, the first song in the fic, to remind you of how far things have come. You should be able to find a playlist of all the songs (a bit outdated, working on it) on YouTube by searching for "In Another's Eyes by Kitsune Heart" or the user InariPup. That has totally been public for the last year and a half.  
**

**Now please excuse me. Time for a good cry.**


End file.
